


The Them Go To Hell

by Jay Auris (nighthawkms)



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Adam Young Ships Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Aftermath of Torture, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Found Family, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Other, Rescue Missions, Team Human, Team as Family, Teenage Drama, Teenage Rebellion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-24
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2020-07-19 03:54:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 25,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19967614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nighthawkms/pseuds/Jay%20Auris
Summary: Five years after the Apocalypse that Wasn't, Adam Young's life is mostly normal, other than having two immortal godfathers and the power to warp reality. But when Aziraphale and Crowley get dragged into Hell, his powers alone won't be enough to save them. He needs help. He needs Them.Four teenagers against all of the forces of Hell? Nothing could go wrong.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> OKAY SO. Good Omens fandom is absolutely intimidating for its sheer size, length of time, and talent of the individuals therein. I have tried my best to live up to the ingenious writing of Neil, Terry and all the other fanfic writers who've come before me, but I'm not British and my comedic talents could probably be described with the ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ emoji. Still, I love writing good adventure stories, so I hope you all enjoy this. Let me know in the comments what you like, what was meh, and any helpful, constructive critiques. Or just scream about the fic/Inneffable Husbands/The Them, that works too.
> 
> Thanks to my AMAZING beta and Britpicker, [sburbanite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sburbanite/pseuds/sburbanite), for assisting me with this fic. It would be 75% less good without their stellar, insightful, and hilarious critique. Go check out some of their work!
> 
> PLEASE NOTE: I have put a short summary of the potentially triggering content in this fic in the end notes. Please reference them for more information, and if you think I've left anything major out, feel free to let me know!

One day, about two years on from that time where Adam had almost destroyed and then saved the world in one afternoon, Aziraphale and Crowley take him out for ice cream.

The visit is sudden, unexpected, but then, that's how Crowley and Aziraphale usually operate; long stretches where Adam hears nothing from them, only for Aziraphale to pop in with a present [1] and a cheerful "hello, dear boy!" while Crowley slouches in behind him, expression resting in an eternal smirk, looking over the top of his sunglasses and giving Adam a slit-eyed wink. They always say they’ve come to see how he's getting on, but Adam understands enough about what happened on that weird summer day to guess that their motives aren't entirely altruistic. They're probably checking in to see if he's showing signs of wanting to give that whole Apocalypse thing a second go[2]

After the Very Regular Saturday That Did Not End the World, all it took was a little mental nudge by Adam to convince his parents that Aziraphale and Crowley were just a lovely couple who had come to Tadfield for a summer stay, and befriended the children through a series of coincidental meetings around the village. His parents’ approval of the angel and demon who declared themselves Adam's godfathers[3]meant that they were always welcomed to take Adam out for a spot of fun.

So, when Aziraphale and Crowley appear on his doorstep in the summer of his 13th year, Adam thinks nothing of it.

It's only when he asks if the rest of the Them can come along [4] and Crowley grunts and Aziraphale says, "Perhaps not today, dear boy," that Adam realizes this might not be a normal visit.

They go to the park, and Adam gets a cone with three scoops and sprinkles [5] and they sit on the bench in front of the small pond where the ducks are teaching their ducklings to swim. Crowley pulls a bag of bread crusts out from an inner jacket pocket that's much too small to hold something of that size and passes it wordlessly to Aziraphale. Adam catches the drizzle of melting ice cream that's about to run down his fingers with his tongue, and Aziraphale aimlessly throws bread to the ducks as they sit quietly for a few minutes.

After a while, Aziraphale says, "How are you getting on then, Adam?"

"No more angels or demons bothering me, if that's what you're asking," Adam replies. "So what's this all about?"

"I don’t know what you mean, kid," Crowley drawls, his words as slow and relaxed as the pose he takes on the bench. But his shoulders hunched the slightest bit when Adam spoke, and Adam noticed [6].

"Oh, there's no point trying to pretend, Crowley," Aziraphale says. He sighs and lobs a piece of bread a little harder than normal, wincing apologetically when it bounces off a duckling's head [7]. "We need to talk to you about something. We've- well, Crowley's been hearing some rumors from his home office-"

" _Former_ home office," Crowley corrects him. "We went through that whole charade to get off their roster, or at least be put on an extended sabbatical. Don't downplay our successes."

Aziraphale rolls his eyes, and then glances at Adam. They share a secret smile. "Yes, apologies, dear," Aziraphale continues. "In any case, there've been rumors."

"Specific rumors about how your _former_ father is looking to send a replacement Antichrist as soon as possible," Crowley says.

"How's that supposed to work?" Adam asks. "As far as I know, there's only supposed to be one Antichrist, not a whole bunch." Would that mean he'd have a brother? Or a sister, it doesn't have to be a boy. Or, like the person who runs the yoga studio downtown, someone who's neither? [8]. So, a sibling. He wouldn't mind that. Though it sounds like it comes with some complications.

"Therein lies the problem," Aziraphale explains. "If the devil were to send a replacement, there'd be two people with the power to reshape reality and end the world. If one wants to keep it the way it is, and one does not, well, nothing would happen, would it?"

"You'd cancel each other out," Crowley pipes up. "Can't end the world if the world has a protector of equal measure to the destroyer."

"Oh," Adam says. Well. It makes perfect sense. Or as much sense as one can make of two immortal, warring factions who have been squabbling over a planet for six thousand years.

"Oh indeed," Aziraphale says gravely. "Now, they could just wait until you pass on naturally, probably in seventy years or so."

"Not that long for a being of our type," Crowley says. "About as long as a Saturday detention for your lot."

"My lot being humans," Adam states. "Rather than you immortal being types."

"Exactly!" Aziraphale beams at him and tosses another bit of bread without looking. Miraculously [9], it swerves at the last second before hitting another poor duckling. "You're catching on very quick, my dear boy."[10]

Adam shrugs. "Doesn't seem that difficult to understand. But you wouldn't be here if you thought that was going to happen that way, right?"

"Mmmm, spot on," Crowley says. "Now, not that demons are particularly _wicked_ or anything, but I've got a hunch that they mean to speed up the process. Specifically, by speeding you into an early grave."

"They want to off me?" Adam asks. He's oddly flattered; even after finding out that he's the Antichrist, it's hard for him to imagine people pay him that much attention. Of course, being a Perfectly Normal Human Boy in all other aspects, he also feels a creeping terror go up his spine.

"Not to worry, dear," Aziraphale says, patting Adam's hand, then wrinkling his nose and pulling it away when he realizes that some of the ice cream has left sticky residue on his fingers. "We're on the case. We've come up with _plans_."

Oh no.

"Well, plan, singular for now," Crowley interjects. "See, it'd be hard for them to kill you most of the time. You'd sense their demonic presence and have plenty of time to trap them in a pocket reality or send them to the bottom of the ocean or put them into one of those video games where you shoot racist caricatures of Middle Eastern people."

"Mmmm," Aziraphale agrees. "There's only one time where we believe you'd really be in danger. Can you guess when?"

Adam thinks on it as he starts to lick into the second scoop of ice cream. When would he not be able to know danger is coming? What time-

"Oh!" Adam says. "Got it. When I'm asleep."

" _Bingo_ ," Crowley says. "You're still human, and your body needs rest. You could try to alter the reality of your body, but that'd be tricky and dangerous, especially at your age. Potentially stunt your growth. Not a good idea."

"Indeed," Aziraphale says. "So, we've come up with a temporary solution. We're going to watch you sleep."

"You're _what?_ " Adam yelps.

"Watch _over_ you, for Satan’s sake, angel!" Crowley snaps. "That was a poor way to put it."

"Apologies," Aziraphale says with an apologetic smile to match. "What I mean is this. You'll continue to live your normal, happy life as a regular human child. The only difference is that you'll have some added protection when you're asleep. We have no need for sleep, even if some of us have gone a little too _native_." He shoots Crowley a pointed look. Crowley just smirks.

"I- that's a bloody terrible idea!" Adam says, almost dropping the ice cream as he waves his hand. "I can't fall asleep with a demon and an angel staring at me!"

Crowley rests a hand on Adam's shoulder. "Relax, kid," he says, shooting Adam a grin. "You won't even know we're there. Not planning on staring at you for eight hours like some bloody teenage vampire with a possession complex. We'll park ourselves nearby. Outside the house, on the roof, maybe in the field. We'll keep well out of your way."

"Oh. That sounds... better," Adam says. Really, imagining an angel and a demon staring at him while he lies in bed, that's be just... _awful._ [11] "So, erm, you're just gonna come back and forth from London every night to do this?"

"Not exactly," Aziraphale says. "Ms. Device and Mr. Pulsifer have just moved into their new house in the village, and Jasmine Cottage now stands vacant. We've been welcomed to stay as long as needed."

"You're not going back to London?" Adam frowns. "But you love it there." He got to visit Aziraphale's bookshop once. Even as boy raised in a world of modern technology, he couldn’t help but love the cozy, well-kept feel of the space, and the potential for excitement and adventure those mountains of books possessed. Aziraphale's expression welled with pride as he pottered around the place, showing the Youngs every little nook and cranny. And Crowley exuded pride as he gave Adam and his parents a tour of the city he’d called home now for hundreds of years, pointing out the best spots for clandestine meetings (not that he ever had a need to have any kind of meetings, secret or otherwise) as well as the places where ducks were most likely to congregate.[12]

"Just a temporary solution," Crowley assures him. "Though for us, temporary means something on the line of two or three decades."

Aziraphale nods. "We'll figure something out, but until then, at least one of us will be there to protect you. I promise, you won't come to any harm with us watching over you."

And so, that evening Adam looks outside his bedroom window and spots Crowley and Aziraphale in the field, lying on a blanket and looking out at the stars. Aziraphale gives him a little wave when he sees Adam, and then turns his head to say something to Crowley. Adam settles into bed, spends about an hour thinking this is a very odd situation, and then falls asleep.

It goes on like this for several weeks until one evening, when Adam awakens from a strange dream involving the Them sailing a paper boat down a drain and finding a world of purple walruses in the sewers, and looks out his window to see Crowley's outline sitting on the roof just outside.

Yawning, Adam gets up and walks over to the window, opening it up. Crowley doesn't move, but he does say, "Aziraphale had some business tonight, so I'm on watch alone. Need me to keep out of sight 'til you fall back asleep?"

"Nah," Adam says, clambering out onto the roof as well. Budge over."

Crowley slides to give him some space, and Adam sits next to him, tipping his head back and looking up to the stars. It's a nice night out: clear sky, a half moon, and every constellation in the Milky Way there to see.

Once, Crowley had said something to Adam about assisting in the creation of the universe. Now, Adam motions upwards, asking, "Did you make any of those? When you were an angel?"

Crowley stiffens a bit. Adam thinks he's hit upon a subject that's too painful, but then Crowley says, "Quite a few, actually. There, and there, and even there," he says, pointing towards different parts of the sky.

"So you've been out there," Adam states. "What's it like?"

"Cold," Crowley says. "Dark. Lonely."

"Did Aziraphale make any of them?" Adam asks.

"...I don't know," Crowley admits. "I've never asked him."

"Oh," Adam says. "You should. I bet he'd tell you all about them. He loves to share everything else with you. Why not that?"

"I suppose..." Crowley starts. Then he slides his sunglasses off, rubs his eyes, and blinks them open. Even though Adams knows they don’t just disappear when Crowley wears the shades, seeing his snake eyes is always a little bit disconcerting. "We don't talk much about before I Fell. I don't remember anything, and he says he didn't know me."

Adam frowns. "You think he's telling you the truth?"

"I hope so," Crowley says, pulling up his knees and resting his arms on them. "I can't stand the thought that I don't remember every single moment I've ever spent with him."

"You should tell him that," Adam decides. "Exactly what you just said. It's proper romantic. He'd probably swoon."

Even in the bare moonlight, Adam can see Crowley's face slowly turning a shade of red. He slides his glasses back on, clears his throat, and then shrugs.

"Maybe someday," Crowley says. "You stopped the world from ending. No need to rush things."

"That's stupid," Adam says. "If you love someone, you should tell them as soon as possible. You never know how long you've got with them. Even angels and demons can't live forever, can they?"

Crowley says nothing to that. Adam yawns again, closing his eyes and leaning his forehead against Crowley’s shoulder. After a time, Adam falls asleep there. He wakes up the next morning back in his own bed, no angels or demons in sight.

FOOTNOTES:

1Past presents have included a new bicycle, a remote-controlled toy bi-plane, and tickets to a new water park not far from Tadfield. Despite what one might think, Adam has never received a book from his angelic godfather. The excuse Aziraphale has always given Adam is: "My collection is very old and uninteresting for a modern young man such as yourself." The truth is that Aziraphale would willingly walk naked into Hell rather than give away any of his books. [ return to text ]

2 Not that they would do anything useful about it. Aziraphale would probably sigh and maybe get a little weepy, and Crowley would spend all his energy fussing over Aziraphale. Heaven and Hell’s delegation of pre-Apocalypse preparations to these two shows either laziness or a lack of any bloody sense.  [ return to text ]

3Adam's father found Aziraphale to be a fine, cultured gentleman who had a rich literary background and always suggested the perfect wine pairing for the Young’s Date Night meals. Meanwhile, Adam's mum had spent a period in the 80s exclusively listening to indie hair metal and underground punk; no one ever seemed to know any of the bands she mentioned, but wouldn't you know it, Crowley was also at the Electric Sheep concert in the South Downs in 1985? And off they went. [ return to text ]

4 Aziraphale has always seemed fascinated and delighted by the little group. "That Pepper shall end up in Parliament someday, mark my words." "Brian swings that cricket bat so well, he'll be a professional!" "Wensleydale certainly should win the science fair with that project, or the whole thing is rigged." "Adam, you've chosen a fine group of people to call friends. Friends are the most important thing in the world, you know?" Aziraphale was watching Crowley when he said that. The way he looked at Crowley… well, Adam hopes someone looks at him that way someday. [return to text]

5His mum had told him to never take advantage of someone's kindness, but the first time he ordered a single scoop and told Crowley what his mum had said, Crowley barked out a laugh and told him that human concepts of currency are nebulous to ethereal beings and they can literally make money out of thin air, so he'd better take all the advantage he wants. [ return to text ]

6Pepper's been watching this video series on YouTube about how to read body language and, by extension, the rest of the Them know everything she's learned from it. [ return to text ]

7The duckling, for its part, is just happy to have more bread. [ return to text ]

8 Pepper would be very proud of his equal-opportunity consideration of the Antichrist. [ return to text ]

9 Whether it's an angelic or demonic miracle is lost to the ages. [ return to text ]

10It isn't that Aziraphale means to speak so patronizingly to Adam. Really, he does believe that the boy is smart, but the wisdom and knowledge and experience of a six-thousand-year-old being versus an eleven-year-old can't begin to compare. Is a new mother being patronizing when she tickles her newborn infant and says the child is "so good at playing with his _toesy wosies!"_? You decide. [ return to text ]

11It would be awful for several reasons, not just because of the sleeping part. After all, Adam is a thirteen-year-old boy, and sleeping isn't the only thing a thirteen-year-old boy likes to do in the privacy of his bedroom. [ return to text ]

12Adam didn't say it was a good tour. [ return to text ]


	2. Chapter 1

_Three years later..._

"Oi! Adam Young, get your arse out here!"

"I'm coming, I'm coming!" Adam shouts, barreling out the back door of his house, Dog at his heels, and snatching up his bike. Through the thicket of the bushes surrounding the house, three teenagers are peering over the top. "You're lucky my dad's not here, Pepper," Adam says, pushing through the greenery. "He'd tell your mum that you were using language that was _unbecoming of a young lady with your intelligence_." The way he says it would make a person think he's heard that exact quote enough times to be memorized.

"Eat shit," Pepper responds, but she's grinning, braces glinting in the late summer evening light. Behind her, Brian and Wensleydale are playing rock-paper-scissors; Brian picks rock to Wensleydale's paper, and he groans as Wensleydale lets out a whoop of joy.

"What are you playing for?" Adam asks as he gets onto his bike.

"Who's going to be the distraction when we nick some beer from the shop," Wensleydale explains. "Now I get to have a nice chat with Ms. Cooper about the weather while Brian does the thieving."

"I'm stocky," Brian argues. "Big and definitely noticeable. You'd be much sneakier!"

Wensleydale smirks, "And yet, I'm the one who won."

"I don't understand why you can't just make her look away with your powers, Adam," Pepper says. "Isn't this the kind of thing they should be used for?"

"It's no fun that way," Adam says. "And we can't be proper teenage dirtbags without the dirtbag part. Now, come _on!_ " He whoops and speeds off down the hill.

The status of the Them is not so different and yet far from the same as it had been five years previously. They are still as thick as thieves [13] but they each have their own friends as well now, and bits of their lives are slowly expanding away from each other. Pepper is the president of their school's Young Women's Empowerment Club and rising through the ranks of the fencing team[14], Brian is a star on the high school cricket team, often spending weekends away at matches, and lately, giving poor excuses that are definitely girl-related for why he can't come along to hang out in their favorite haunts. Wensleydale spends hours doing tech support for the theater program, and his father's been teaching him to trap hunt on the weekends; he's gotten to be a crack shot with a shotgun. Yet none of these things have managed to break that tenuous, delicate bond of a lifelong friendship.[15]

As they enter the town center, Brian and Wensleydale are at the lead of the pack, still arguing over who should be the distraction and who should be the thief. Pepper and Adam wheel slowly behind. Adam likes this pace; he might be the leader of the Them, but there's no need to be a prick about it. Besides, it means he gets to ride next to Pepper, and lately, that's where he's felt he should be.

"Adam," Pepper says, slowing her bike to a stop and dropping her foot to the ground. Adam copies her motions, and Brian and Wensleydale are oblivious as they continue riding ahead. "I've, erm, got a question," she says. There's a blue elastic band around her wrist, and she twists it as she looks on towards the boys.

"Yeah?" Adam asks, affecting a Crowley-esque slouch on his bike seat. "What is it?"

"Well, my first fencing match of the summer season is on Sunday, and I was wondering if you would come and watch?" In opposition to Adam, she's affected an almost Aziraphale-like stiffened spine. "Mum and Dad will be there, of course, but they're always there. And the team's alright for celebrating or commiserating, but it'd be exciting to show off my skills to other people."

"Oh. Yeah, of course," Adam says. "Brian and Wensleydale too?"

Pepper shakes her head, though she continues to look ahead. "I-um, I think they're busy. Brian's definitely probably got a cricket match and I think Wensleydale told me last week his dad was taking him camping the whole weekend. Y'know, for the 'bonding experience' or whatever that shrink told his mum and dad in couples' counseling. You know he's sensitive about that, I wouldn't bring it up."

"Right," Adam says, not entirely convinced.[16] "Well, of course I'll come. I'd like to see you fight with a proper sword, that sounds like the tits."

Pepper finally looks at him, grinning widely. "Brilliant," she says, pushing off her right foot and rolling into a cycle. "Come on then, before the boys think we've ditched 'em."

Adam looks down at Dog, who's seated next to him and looking up with a quizzical head-tilt. Dog blinks and then whines, his tail slapping the ground.

"Yeah, I don't know either," Adam says.[17] He shrugs and pushes off, following Pepper down the path.

In the end, it is Brian who ends up doing the thieving.[18] Alcohol successfully nicked, they hop back on their bikes and ride through the rest of the village. It's a fine summer day[19] and everyone is out enjoying the weather. Lots of kids running around, Mrs. and Mrs. Parkinson setting flowerpots up outside of their hardware store, Mr. Tyler still eyeing them suspiciously after all these years. The village feels suspended in some happy childhood memory.[20]

Back down the lane through the forest, they reach the large oak tree overlooking the Great Field and drop their bikes to the ground. Adam slouches against the tree and motions to Brian. "Chuck us a can," he says. Brian pulls the six pack from under his jacket and tosses a can- but Adam catches air when he closes his fist. The can is gone. As is the six pack.

Before he can start cursing, there's a crunch of sticks underfoot behind him. "Funny, I could have sworn these were illegal for someone your age?" Aziraphale appears from around the tree, holding the can in his hand, eyebrow raised in a manner that a stranger would believe was pure innocence, but Adam knows Aziraphale well enough to know he's taking the piss.

The three teenagers who don't have an angel and a demon for godfathers look rightly nervous, but Adam just scowls and folds his arms. "I could just take it back," he grumbles.

"You won't," says another voice, as Crowley rounds the tree behind Aziraphale. He's holding a wicker basket, which is an odd enough sight, except Aziraphale probably packed it for them and Crowley wormed his way into carrying it. Crowley continues. "After all we've done for you over the years, kid?" He's smirking, and Adam scowls deeper. None of the Them know about the "Nighttime Arrangement" as Adam's come to think of it. He'd like to keep it that way.

"Think of your health," Aziraphale chides gently. "All the possible outcomes. Liver damage, heart disease, a stroke-"

"I'm the bloody Antichrist, I'll just make myself better again!" Adam snaps. "We're teenage dirtbags, this is the type of shit we're supposed to pull!"

"Oi!" Crowley says, voice raised in warning. "Don't snap at him." Protective, always protective of Aziraphale, Crowley is, but still doesn't have the guts to say what he feels. Hypocrite. Adam shouldn't really expect much else from a demon.[21]

"Adam..." Brian says. "It's not a big deal, we'll just find something else to do."[22]

"That's not the point though, is it?" Adam grumbles, glaring at Aziraphale. “The point is- is how am I supposed to decide for myself what’s right and wrong when you’re always hovering and doing it for me?”

“I’m just looking out for you, Adam…” Aziraphale says woundedly, which is just unfair, like Adam’s the arsehole here?

“Well I never asked for it!” Adam yanks his bike back up and strides past the immortal pair. "Come on, it's getting too crowded here. I could use some fucking space for once in my life."

There's an awkward moment where the Them and Aziraphale and Crowley stare at one another, and then the three teenagers slowly gather their bikes and follow their leader up the path.

"That was a bit much, wasn't it?” Aziraphale states. He sighs, already knowing the answer.

"Mmmm," Crowley says, watching the teenagers leave. "A bit. They don't want anyone fathering them around their friends at that age."

"I just don't want him getting sick. Children his age aren’t looking to enjoy alcohol for its subtle flavors and varieties. They just chug it all down in massive quantities so they can get pissed and jump off roofs and things like that. I know his father wouldn’t approve." Aziraphale scowls at the beer in his hand, and the whole of the pack disappears.[23]

"Teenagers think anything their parents hate is interesting," Crowley replies. He nudges Aziraphale with the wicker basket. "Truth be told, I feel a kinship there. Got in a lot of trouble in my early days going against what my creator wanted."

Aziraphale snorts, nudging him right back. "I'm not quite sure the comparison is valid." He sighs again. "Why can't I get through to him anymore? He doesn't listen to a thing I say."

"Give it a few years," Crowley says. "They all go through this. Just be glad he's not reached the point where he's asking us to show up a few hours late to watch him because he's sneaking someone up to his room."

"Heaven preserve us," Aziraphale says, wincing. "Let's think of more pleasant things. Picnic?"

Crowley smiles. "I assumed that's why we brought the basket and the blanket."

And so, like they have many times in the last five years, they enjoy the afternoon in each other's company. It’s a lovely experience, and there look to be many sunny days just like it to come.

FOOTNOTES:

13And apparently, now taking that turn of phrase literally for the sake of teenage rebellion. [ return to text ]

14The whole bit with the sword back in the day had given her a taste for it, and the year after, the local middle and high schools had received a mysterious, staggeringly generous donation to create the teams. Adam thinks Aziraphale had something to do with it, but he’s never admitted that. [ return to text ]

15 And the mutterings about _Them_ on the streets of Tadfield remain as strong as ever. [ return to text ]

16Adam had, after all, learned quite a bit about body language from Pepper. [ return to text ]

17Adam's powers do not actually extend to speaking to animals, but neither can any of the other humans who hold full conversations with their pets. [ return to text ]

18 For all he moans about being too large and clumsy for that sort of thing, three years of cricket have proven him otherwise. [ return to text ]

19They're all still a bit wary of fine summer days, even if the only angels and demons who've shown up on one in the past five years are well acquainted with them. [ return to text ]

20The Them who are not Adam sometimes suspect that Adam's influence keeps it this way. But it hasn't worried them, and why should it? They're just coming to the cusp of the age where questions of power and who wields it are beginning to be asked.). [ return to text ]

21 Like any sixteen-year-old boy, Adam often sees things in black and white, which is ironic, considering that's exactly what Heaven and Hell were hoping for five years previously. Just another example of the age-old problem of upper management insisting a product go out the door before it's truly ready. If they had given it five more years and done a Sweet Sixteen Apocalypse, they'd be tearing the Earth to pieces in a holy war right this moment. [ return to text ]

22 Truthfully, the alcohol had been a dare, and the anticipation would have far exceeded the reality. Meaning, the six pack would've been in the bin not ten minutes later. [ return to text ]

23In the shop back in Tadfield, the pack lands on the floor and one of the cans smashes open, pouring liquid everywhere. [ return to text ]


	3. Chapter 3

Adam's awake at three in the morning, playing Fortnite on his mobile[24] when there's a tap on the window. He looks up to see Aziraphale looking through the glass, motioning towards the latch. It's locked; Adam left it that way, and he knows Aziraphale well enough to know the angel won't unlock it without his permission. He's tempted to tell Aziraphale to piss off, and really, why shouldn't he? Just because Aziraphale declared himself a godfather, doesn't mean he needs to act like a second dad. Adam's already got one, thanks so much. But it would probably come back to bite him in the arse, and Aziraphale would look sad, and that has a funny way of making Adam feel massive amounts of guilt [25]. So, he nods and looks back at his phone.

Adam hears the latch and the sound of the window sliding open. Some other player in the game is trying to snipe him from afar, and he spends the next few moments ignoring Aziraphale in favor of building up defenses, only for someone to come up behind him and shoot him in the head.

"Shit," Adam says, dropping his head back dramatically. "There goes my score for the season. Why're you here?"

"I was hoping to talk," Aziraphale says, sitting on the edge of the bed. Adam groans; whenever an adult says those words, he's about to get in trouble for something (usually rightly, but, still).

"You were right about the beer, it’s bad for my health, won't do it again," Adam says. "Happy?" He finds that listing off whatever he's done wrong usually stops a lecture in its tracks.

Aziraphale smooths his hands over his knees, staring at his knuckles and coughing. "That's not exactly what I was talking about." His spine is extra levels of Aziraphale stiffness today; he's massively uncomfortable right now. Something's off.

Adam rests his phone on the nightstand without looking and sits up, crossing his legs. "Let's have it then," he says, trying to look relaxed.

"Well, I had a chat with Crowley, and he, ah, said I needed to give you some space. To do all of that... what did you call it?" Aziraphale taps his lower lip, trying very hard to remember; he's never been good at understanding what the kids are talking about[26]. "Ah, yes, being a _teenage dirt-bag_."

It sounds so stupid coming out of Aziraphale's mouth, that Adam almost feels embarrassed to have called himself that[27]. "Er, yeah. Space would be nice," Adam says. "I'm not a little kid anymore, I don't need you hovering all the time."

"Quite right," Aziraphale says in a tone that massively undercuts his cheery statement. "That's settled, then. I shall return to London."

"Wait, London?" That wasn't what Adam was expecting him to say, considering the Nighttime Arrangement. "What about watching me?"

"Crowley can certainly handle that," Aziraphale states. He's still not looking at Adam. The room feels cold and so does the distance between them. "He's always understood your needs a bit better, I think. It doesn't take two supernatural beings to watch a child. Besides, this will allow me more leeway to investigate a solution to this little problem."

"But- but that'd mean he'd stay here, and you'd leave."

Aziraphale's laugh is mirthless. "Just for a few years, dear boy. Blink of an eye for us."

"It isn't though, is it?" Oh, Adam may be young[28], but he isn't imperceptive. "Not anymore."

Aziraphale's fingers are twisting in the leg of his pants. "I don't know what you-"

" _Aaaaargh,_ stop it, Zira! Why are you both great bloody gits about this?" Adam drags his hands through his hair, flopping back against the pillows. "You spent six thousand years dancing around how you feel about each other, and I figured it out when I was _eleven._ Do you know how pathetic that is? Tell him already!"

"My- my dear boy, it isn't that easy." Aziraphale looks well and truly _shook_ by Adam's outburst, like he wasn't expecting a sixteen-year-old to have such passion[29].

"Isn't it, though?" Adam asks. "You know he told me that same load of bollocks? Why do adults have to make things like love so complicated? You love someone, you tell them."

Aziraphale looks ready to begin a lengthy lecture on the difficulties of an angel and a demon declaring romantic intentions towards one another, when said demon suddenly slides through the window, his wings unfurling black as night in the room.

"Crowley?" Aziraphale says, standing up. "What is it?"

" _They're here_ ," Crowley hisses. A tire iron manifests in his hand as Aziraphale shoots to his feet. Adam brings his arms up to protect his face as Aziraphale's pure white wings unfurl with a snap, and he gasps when a blade appears in Aziraphale's hand: bronze, blazing with a blue flame. That's- but hadn't he-?

" _Where._ " Aziraphale commands more than asks. His voice is hard, colder than Adam's ever heard it, and seems to echo with the strength of a thousand voices. Fear shoots down Adam's spine; he glances left and right, curling in on himself.

"You can't _feel_ it, angel?" Crowley snaps. "Shit, _shit_ , I need you to-"

An unearthly shriek cuts through the night as a void of nothing opens over the window behind Crowley. A dozen hands shoot out: mottled ones, weeping ones, ones with a thousand eyes, grey rotting ones, and they wrap themselves around Crowley, who hasn't even the time to cry out before they've dragged him through, and then he's gone, vanished, and Aziraphale is left wide-eyed, reaching out towards an empty space.

" _CROWLEY!_ " Adam screams, scrambling over the edge of his bed and twisting around in the space. "CROWLEY, COME BACK, I- I ORDER IT!"

Nothing happens.

"Adam..." Aziraphale says behind him. Adam twists and meets Aziraphale's eyes, and for the first time since he was eleven, he sees terror written across his godfather's face.

Another shriek deafens them as a void opens behind Aziraphale, hands dragging him back.

" _NO!_ " Adam shouts, lunging forward and grabbing Aziraphale's hand. " _NO, LEAVE HIM ALONE!"_

There's a moment suspended, where they're locked hand-to hand, and Adam feels himself being drawn towards the void.

Aziraphale meets his eyes. " _Run_ ," he pleads. Then he lets go, and Adam screams again as he vanishes.

" _AZIRAPHALE!_ NO, NO, BRING THEM BACK!" Adam paces wildly back and forth; his body feels primed to run, to chase, to follow, but where would he go? Every fiber of his being is straining outwards, sensing, trying to will Aziraphale and Crowley to appear in front of him. He's the bloody _fucking_ Antichrist, reality bends to his will! Why aren't they coming back? _Where are they?!_

Adam twists around to grab the windowsill and bellow into the night. "CROWLEY, AZIRAPHALE, COME BACK! PLEASE, COME BACK! _PLEASE!_ "

Silence, and then pounding footsteps as his father bursts into the room.

"Adam, what's going on in here!" his father yelps. His mother stumbles in after him, half-asleep.

"Dad, Dad, _they're gone_ ," Adam says. There's moisture on his cheeks; he hadn't even realized he was crying. "They, they took them!"

"Who- who are you talking about, Adam?" his mum asks.

"Z-zira and Crowley," Adam sniffs, wiping his eyes, which doesn't seem to help. "Someone, some _thing_ took them. They were here and then there were these hands and then-"

"Adam," his father says, voice soft. "It was a dream. Mr. Fell and Mr. Crowley wouldn't be in your room at this hour. Good lord, I hope not," he chuckles. "I didn't think they were the type."

"It wasn't a dream!" Adam shouts. "It-they-"

But then he stops long enough to think. His mum and dad have no idea about the Nighttime Arrangement, or the angel and demon, or Adam's powers, or anything supernatural. If he tries to explain it, if he _makes_ them believe him, what good would it do? They would probably want to call the police; as if the local bobbies could saunter down into Hell with a “ _what’s all this, then_?” and ask the right questions to find Aziraphale and Crowley safe and sound. No, there's no point. They can't help.

"Alright now?" his mum asks, seeing that Adam has calmed down. He wipes his eyes and takes a few deep breaths.

"Yeah. Sorry, it just seemed so real." He gives them a watery smile, and his father pats him on the shoulder.

"Quite alright," says his dad. "How about we phone them in the morning? Just to be sure."

"Nah, I'll probably just go see them myself," Adam says. It's a lie, but it'll get them off his back. The less his parents are involved, the better.

His mum gives him a peck on the cheek. "Get some rest," she says as she and his father leave the room, shutting the door.

Adam sniffs again and twists around, diving onto his bed and grabbing his phone. No way is he falling asleep now; even if he wasn't wired from adrenaline, he knows that he's likely in danger if he does. Whatever demons took Aziraphale and Crowley, they just have to wait until he falls asleep... No. This is an emergency. He has to find them. He has to bring them back.

The group chat is the first thing pinned on his messenger app, and he types _EMERGENCY, LIVES AT STAKE, MEET UP ASAP TOMORROW_ before hitting the send button.

A bubble pops up; someone else is typing.

 _Can we meet at ten? Wanna sleep in._ It's from Brian.

 _Nine-thirty at the castle. DON'T be late,_ he sends back. Then he pauses and considers. Sends one more. _I'll bring doughnuts and coffee._

FOOTNOTES:

24Of course they’re still playing _Fortnite_ in 2024, were you expecting otherwise?[ return to text ]

25He's not entirely sure that isn't a supernatural effect. Aziraphale works in mysterious ways.[ return to text ]

26Keep in mind that for Aziraphale, 'the kids' describes anyone born after 3980 BCE. [ return to text ]

27 This, dear reader, is what we call _insight_.[ return to text ]

28 Pun intended.[ return to text ]

29To be fair, Aziraphale hasn't spent much time with sixteen-year-olds until now. [ return to text ]


	4. Chapter 4

"They _what_?" Pepper yelps, nearly spilling her cappuccino.[30] "Holy shit!"

"That doesn't sound good," Brian replies. "Bit out of our league, right?"

They're seated in a circle, the box of doughnuts between them, as the sun rises on another cheery morning. Adam considers it quite rude for the weather to be this way when Aziraphale and Crowley are trapped somewhere in the depths of Hell, probably being grievously tortured. He would normally urge the clouds to consider rain, but he doesn't want to waste his energy. There are more important things to spend it on today. They're on borrowed time; in addition to the fear of what Hell will do to Aziraphale and Crowley, Adam can't risk falling asleep. He's already been awake seven hours, and that's on top of only getting about four hours of sleep. Humans can only last so long.[31]

"It'll have to be on us," Adam replies. "We're the only ones who can help. We're the only ones who care enough to help."

"What about Ms. Device and Mr. Pulsifer?" Wensleydale asks. "They'll definitely care. And Ms. Device has all those witchy powers, maybe she can summon them back?"

"We can't put Ms. Device into danger right now, what with her being pregnant and all," Brian declares. "A pregnant lady shouldn't be going to Hell."

"That's _sexist_ ," Pepper shoots back. "She's not nearly that far along, and pregnant women have every right to participate in adventures just like everyone else."

Brian looks fit to argue with her, but Adam cuts in. "That doesn't matter. Do you really think if we went running to adults that they'd handle this well? We'd probably be told that it's not our concern and we should stay here and stay safe. Maybe they'd let me come along because of my powers, but you lot wouldn't be allowed." None of them have a response to that, and after a beat of silence, Adam continues. "No, if we want this done right, if we really want to save Zira and Crowley, we have to do it ourselves."

"How, though?" Pepper asks. She's got a bit of frothy milk on the tip of her nose, and Adam wants to reach over and wipe it off, but he’s worried she might feel some type of way about it.[32] "We don't even know where to start. How would we even get there?"

"There must be a way," Wensleydale says, putting that logical mind of his to work. Adam can practically see the gears turning. "Mr. Fell and Mr. Crowley must have had a way to get there themselves."

"They did," Adam points out. "Crowley told me about it; some escalator in London. But even if we did know which one, we'd have to find a way to get there. We don't have cars, the bus route running there doesn't leave again until five tonight, and our parents would ground us for weeks for running away."[33]

"But they didn't get to Hell that way this time," Wensleydale points out. "Oh! There must be a closer location. Something whatever took them used."

"Of course!" Pepper cries. "The airfield! That’s where they all appeared last time." She looks pleased as punch to have figured it out.

"Alright, so say we find a bloody escalator to Hell," Brian says. "What then? D'you lot expect us to just waltz in there and ask them very nicely to return Mr. Fell and Mr. Crowley? They're demons. They'd love to get their hands on some more innocent humans to torture."

"We don't exactly qualify as innocent, I suspect," Adam points out. "Consider the thieving. And the cursing. We haven't done a proper murder or started a war, but we've- y'know. Bent the rules a lot."

"Still," Wensleydale says. "Brian has a point. We'd need a way to blend in. Do we know what demons look like?"

"Disgusting, I'd expect," Pepper says. "Lots of oozing and flies. I bet they smell awful."

"Mr. Crowley doesn't smell awful," Wensleydale points out. "A bit sulfury, but not offensive."

"Crowley's more us than demon nowadays, I suspect," Adam says. "And it's a bit rude to stereotype all demons like that, Pepper. But you’re onto something. I think if we looked ratty and a bit smelly, it'd be a good idea. We need old clothes or something we can ruin."

"I've got it," Wensleydale says. "We just ran a production of _Les Misérables_ last year, and we needed clothes for the street urchins, so there's a bunch of stuff in the theater storage. And I've got a key."

"My mum does gardening and buys a lot of fertilizer," Brian says. "I could probably borrow some that we could rub on ourselves. Get properly odorous."

"Adam, couldn't you just magic us to look and smell demonic?" Pepper asks. "I'm not sure we can come up with anything that'll really fool demons. They're known for being sly, aren’t they?”[34]

Adam considers it, but something is bothering him about what happened last night, when he tried to summon Aziraphale and Crowley back to him. "We’ll have to give it our best shot," he says. "I'm not sure my powers work properly down there. Otherwise, we wouldn't be going down there to save them; I'd just summon them back."

"I wonder if it's a distance thing," Wensleydale says. "Like your powers only work in a specific range."

"The range was the whole of the planet last time," Adam points out. "I hope Hell's not that far away."

"No, that’s not it, is it?" Pepper says. "Mr. Crowley said you have the power to reshape reality, but maybe he meant _this_ reality, like Earth and the universe and stuff. Maybe Heaven and Hell are separate realities and you can't do anything to those. Otherwise, what would stop you from vanishing all the angels and demons and stopping the war forever?"

Adam grins. Pepper always manages to figure it out.[35] "Brilliant, that must be it," he says. "And that's why they didn't work when I tried to call back Zira and Crowley. Don't think I've ever actually tried to use my powers on them, other than that one time I made Zira a new body, but I was still the Antichrist then, so maybe that made a difference as to who I could affect."

"So, we've got a point of entry, and we've got camouflage," Brian states. "Now we need weapons. Well, you lot do; I've got a mean cricket swing and a demon's head is way easier to hit than a ball, so that'll do me."

"My dad keeps all the guns locked up, but there is the family heirloom one over the mantle," Wensleydale says. "It's a bit old, but it takes the same bullets as the rest. And there's always my slingshot for stealth kills.”[36]

"I'm not sure my fencing sword would be any good,” Pepper says. "It's not designed to really hurt someone."

"Oh, I've got a solution to that," Adam says, remembering what he discovered this morning. "Come back to my house and we'll pick it up. And I can get my weapon there too. Right, it's settled then. Wensleydale, you're on costumes and rifle. Brian, you've got cricket bat and manure. And Pepper and I will get our weapons and then go grab whatever else we might need. Meet up at the edge of the field at noon?"

Plan set, they split off, timer ticking. Adam knows that whatever's going on in Hell, it can't be good.

FOOTNOTES:

30Special order, double espresso and extra foam. She discovered coffee at 14, and the local specialty shop has turned her into a bloody hipster. Aziraphale had once called her a "snob" which… pot, kettle. [ return to text ]

31Adam could try and will himself awake forever, but lately his powers have felt a little... wonky. Like, there was the time he tried to will away every bit of acne on his face, only for the universe to interpret 'away' as 'away from' instead of 'gone' and he'd come downstairs to find his father puttering through the newspaper with a face full of teenage zits. Luckily Adam had switched it back before anyone had noticed. He'd talked to Crowley, who had only given him a wry grin and said "Hormones. Affects your whole bloody lot, doesn't it? Give it a few years to settle." [ return to text ]

32Really, he’s the one who would feel some type of way about it, but he can’t go around _admitting_ that, can he? [ return to text ]

33If Adam had thought about this harder, he might’ve considered willing a car to make itself available, or changing the bus route to arrive immediately, or making their parents not give a toss about their leaving Tadfield. But like any child who spent the first eleven years thinking of himself as a Perfectly Normal Boy, he's not always liable to really consider what he can change. Also, going to Hell doesn't seem nearly as intimidating as going to London. [ return to text ]

34Hell's PR department is the best in the universe; all of Earth's PR managers ended up down there. It isn't Pepper's fault that she's bought into the propaganda. [ return to text ]

35Truth be told, Wensleydale often figures it out, but, well, _hormones_. [ return to text ]

36Brian and Wensleydale often spend time playing those racist shooting games Crowley mentioned before, so they tend to deploy a lot more militaristic language than Adam or Pepper, the former of whom has no taste for them, and the latter of whom refuses to play any unless there's a female character option, because, as she states, "I deserve better." And she does. [ return to text ]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a short one today, folks. Thanks to everyone who's left lovely comments, kudos, and bookmarked! It's always encouraging to know I'm not just screaming into the void lol


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: There's disturbing themes in this chapter, please see the end notes for further information.

Crowley’s body aches all over when he comes to. For a demon, this is not unusual; low levels of pain and misery are practically required. But for Crowley, who has spent a lifetime on Earth performing miracles to get rid of all the little obnoxious parts of being human, it's unusual enough to be of concern. The other concern is the strain in his arms, stemming from how they’re restrained above his head, and the fac that his feet aren’t touching the ground.

He groans and opens his eyes, vision swimming for a moment before settling on the sight before him; Aziraphale, facing him, unconscious and slumped forward, arms chained to the metal grey ceiling above, toes dangling an inch above the floor below. His clothes, usually meticulously neat and tidy, are stained with streaks of dirt and grime, but otherwise, he looks unharmed.

"Aziraphale..." Crowley croaks, then coughs. "Bloody hell, angel, this is no time for a rest. Wake up!"

Aziraphale stirs, moaning. "Ohhh… _Saint John_ , that was worse than discorporation..." His eyes open, and he jerks with a start when he sees Crowley. "What's- what's going on, Crowley? Why're you chained up like that?"

"Could ask you the same," Crowley grouses, watching as Aziraphale struggles for a moment, then goes limp again. "Can't miracle them unlocked, can you?"

Aziraphale screws up his face, concentrating, but nothing happens. "I suspect not," he sighs. "Probably some sort of preventative spell or something. You?"

"Mmmm, nope," Crowley says, after trying the same and failing. "Suppose we're stuck here."

"But where _is_ here?" Aziraphale asks, looking around. Crowley also takes in the space; a small room with grey walls, paint peeling, and an overhead rectangular fluorescent light that hangs precariously on its fittings and blinks on and off in a discordant pattern, letting out an endless low whine that reminds Crowley of corporate environments. There's a metal door off the wall to their left, and no windows. The floor is covered in refuse.

A sick sense of fear crawls up Crowley's spine, because there's only one place in- well, _outside_ the universe this could be. "Angel..." Crowley swallows, meeting Aziraphale's eyes. "I think we're in Hell."

Aziraphale jerks at the chains again, eyes widening as his pupils shrink with the same terror Crowley feels, although it must be worse, because at least Crowley is _supposed_ to be here. "No, it's- I _can't_ be in Hell, Crowley! I would've gotten a notice! Or at least a visit from management!"

"Don't think it's like that, angel," Crowley says, coughing again. There's a bit of dirt lodged somewhere in his throat, but when he tries to will it away, it stays stubbornly put. Now, _that_ is a cause for alarm. "Shit. You think they got Adam as well?"

"More's the pity for them if they did," Aziraphale mutters, and Crowley can't help but chuckle at that; even in the worst of situations, Aziraphale can't help being the optimist. The chains rattle as Aziraphale twists to look at the door, frowning. "Speaking of, who exactly _is_ them? Beelzebub? Lucifer? Dagon?"

"Doubt it's the usual ones," Crowley says. "I had much better accommodations the last time they kidnapped me. This smells like a rogue agent."

"What do they want with us? I thought Hell was under strict orders to leave us be?"

"I guess the orders changed. Or someone decided they were stupid orders."

"Quite _ssstupid_ ," hisses a voice as the metal door creaks open. Crowley hears Aziraphale gasp as two demons -one a large, hulking brute with grey skin and a saw for one arm, the other a shorter, thinner wisp with bones on visible display and teeth like a hyena- slide into the room. They don’t appear to be male, or female, or any combination on the spectrum; gender doesn't even seem to be in the same wheelhouse to describe whatever they are.

"Who the hell're you?" Crowley grunts. "I've never seen you before."

"Ssso sssorry," the thin one states. "We've never made it to upper management ssstatusss like you, Crawly."

"It's _Crowley_ ," he growls as the large one kicks the door shut. Crowley doesn't like the look of that saw arm; there's bits of flesh and bone and blood stuck to the blade. It's definitely been used recently, on some other poor soul. "So, you're of the rank and file lot? You don't think your superiors will be displeased when they find out you've gone against direct orders? Look at what happened to me."

"Yesss," the thin one hisses. The large one remains silent. [37] The thin one begins walking, circling Aziraphale and Crowley. "What did happen to you, _Crawly?”_ [38] Let'sss consssider that. You ssstopped the War to End all Warsss, our moment to triumph over the hossst of Heaven, and what wasss your punisssshment? A vacation from your dutiesss and getting to do what you've alwayssss done. Sssshirk ressssponssssibility in favor of sssspending your time with the enemy."

"I'd argue that's a mis-characterization of the facts," Crowley drawls. "If you like, I can give you a much clearer explanation, if you'll just let me down for a min-"

" _SSSSSSHUT UP!_ " The demon screeches. Aziraphale winces, unused to the decibel level of a demonic tantrum. It doesn't faze Crowley; he's heard far worse. "You think you can jussst talk and talk and charm your way out of trouble! Well guesss what? That'sss over now." The thin one snaps its fingers, and the large one stalks across the room, standing still behind Aziraphale, who, now that he can't see the demon, begins breathing hard and struggling, terror written across his face.

"What're you doing?" Crowley snaps, desperately trying to get a handle on the situation. "You really want upper management to find out about this? They'll wipe you from existence. And if Heaven's council gets word, they'll-"

The thin one lets out a high-pitched laugh, and it's far too confident for Crowley's liking. "You don't underssstand," it says. "Thisss is no longer the jurisssdiction of management. The paperwork jussst got in yesterday, don’t you know?" From somewhere- it isn't wearing any clothing, although calling it naked is impossible since demons don't ascribe to mortal concepts of nudity- it produces a clean, crisp sheet of paper and unfolds it, holding it up. "Asss of that moment, you and the angel have been officially _terminated_ from your posssitionsss."

Crowley squints and reads a lot of legalese that probably came straight from the minds of Heaven's best lawyers but doesn't understand until he reads a little farther on. _The angel known as Aziraphale, having committed grievances most foul against the holy host, is hereby stripped of his status as an angel of Heaven, and all the powers under that title. Any dispute of these proceedings must be submitted in writing in the next three-hundred years, or..._ and he doesn't need to read anymore, because he gets it.

"Oh, _Lucifer below_ ," Crowley groans. "Angel..."

" _That'sss_ former angel to you, former demon," the thin one says, grinning madly. It holds up another sheet, this one burned and half-torn, and Crowley sees a similar notice, that he has been _removed from the demonic order and shall retain none of the powers afforded to him_. Now the aching makes sense. No more demonic magic to stave off the pain.

"Crowley, what's going _on?_ " Aziraphale yelps, watching the demon tuck the paperwork back into whatever void it retrieved it from. "What are they talking about?"

"We're... no longer employed," Crowley says, struggling to keep his voice calm, even though he knows it's pointless, but he can't let Aziraphale see him scared, because then Aziraphale will be even _more_ scared.

"Exactly," the demon says. "Not an angel, not a demon, and there'sss no paperwork transssfering you to the other ssssside. And you can't even be called human, can you? You're jussst _nothing_ ," it says, cruelty flashing in its eyes. "No place for either of you."

"No..." Aziraphale is looking at the floor, and Crowley can see he's crying, fat tears rolling down his cheeks. Crowley wants to look away, but he can't. Aziraphale chokes out a denial. "I- I can't be. It isn't true!" He looks up, meeting Crowley's eyes. "Crowley, _please_ , tell me it isn't true."

Crowley, for once in his existence, can't say anything.

"Ssstarting to get it now?" the thin one asks. "You've been officially let go. No one will care what happpensss to you now. And we've got sssome demonic coworkersss who are jussst _furiousss_ at you both for mucking up thingsss up."

Crowley swallows, breathing getting heavier. "What- what're you going to do to us?" he asks. He doesn't want to know the answer, but he can't not ask.

The thin one snaps its fingers again, and the large one steps forward, looming over Aziraphale. It reaches with its normal hand, searching, and Aziraphale cries out as his wings are dragged out of the ethereal plain to flap desperately behind him. Apparently, the termination paperwork didn't include revoking those.

Crowley's crying too now, straining forward as the thin one slips behind him and grips the back of his neck, holding his head still. It leans in to whisper.

"More like what we're going to do to that angel, and make you watch," it whispers. "After all, you're a _former_ demon. Torture doesssn't work on you quite like it will on a poor, innocent formerly angelic sssoul like that, doesss it? But watching, oh, that will be torture enough."

"Please, _please_ don't," Crowley sobs. "Do whatever you want to me, just leave him alone, _please!_ "

"I sssupppossse you ssshold have consssidered the _conssssequencesss_ of your actionsss, Crawly." The thin one chuckles, dark and low. "But you never do, do you?"

The large one grips the top of Aziraphale's right wing, yanking it back to provide access to where it meets Aziraphale's back. Aziraphale struggles mightily, but there's no angelic might behind it anymore. Nothing to save them. Nothing he can do. The large one lowers its blade.

Aziraphale screams then, and so does Crowley, and neither stop for a long while.

FOOTNOTES:

37The large one has never been much of a talker. Their Buzzfeed quiz result on the introversion/extraversion scale came up as _Extreme Introvert, get the fuck out of the house sometime, mate._ [ return to text ]

38Demons and bigots are cut from the same cloth and have no problem dead-naming or misgendering people. [ return to text ]


	6. Chapter 6

When Adam and Pepper get to his house, his mum is in the kitchen, typing on her work laptop. "Hello, dears," she says, smiling as her fingers speed across the keys. "No Brian and Wensleydale?"

"They, er, had to go run some errands. We're just picking something up from my room," Adam says, pointing upstairs.

His mum raises her eyebrows like she expects they'll be doing something else up there, but then she nods. "Yes, well. I'll come up in five if you're having trouble finding it, then."

"Okay," Adam says, and when he looks at Pepper, she's blushing slightly for some reason he can't fathom. Wait, _he's_ blushing too, what's that about? Having no desire to examine this feeling, he quickly turns and pounds his way up the stairs, Pepper at his heels.

"She thinks we're hiding up here to _snog_ ," Pepper hisses as they walk down the hall.

"If we wanted to do that, there's better places than my room," Adam says. He turns when he realizes that Pepper has stopped and is looking at him wide-eyed. "Not that we would- I just meant-"

"Sure, of course," she says quickly, and then strides past him. "We're picking something up?"

"I found it this morning when the sun came up," Adam says, opening his bedroom door and stepping aside to let her in. "I figured what with me being the former son of Satan and all, touching it might not be the best idea."

Across the length of his floor, Aziraphale's sword lies, extinguished. The angel must have dropped it when he was taken, or maybe such a heavenly item was purposefully left behind.

Pepper stares at it, blinking. "So, wait, you think I should-"

"You did that last time," Adam says, leaning against the door jam. "Besides, you're the only one of us who could properly wield it, I expect. And we'll need whatever holy things we can get to survive down there. Go ahead, see how it feels."

Pepper leans down and picks up the sword. It doesn't light up, and Adam doubts she'd be able to summon that blue flame that Aziraphale can, but it seems to fit in her hand well, and she gives it a few test swings. "It's perfectly weighted for me," she says. "It's weird, since Aziraphale is larger than me and probably way stronger."

"Maybe it's like Thor's hammer or something," Adam says. "If ye be worthy. Or Harry Potter's wand. The sword chooses the wielder. Anyway, it's _wicked_. You'll look like a proper badass wielding it."

Pepper smiles and turns to him. "So, what's your weapon, then?"

There's an old shed behind the house, and with a little shoving, they manage to defeat the rusty hinges and open the door. Inside, there's dust everywhere, old equipment like mowers and strimmers lined up against the walls.

Adam steps inside, and emerges with a tall pitchfork, the wooden handle old but of a good quality. "My dad says this was my great-grandad's when they used to own a farm down south," he says. He grips it with both hands and tries jabbing it slowly at Dog, who barks in protest and slips under the points to nip Adam gently on the leg. "Sorry, boy, just playing. Anyway, I expect it'll do for what we need."

"I've been thinking about what you said," Pepper says, resting the sword on her shoulder and leaning back on one leg. Adam thinks he's right; already, she looks wicked cool. She continues. "We need holy things down there, but I think we've got more options."

"Like what?" Adam asks.

This is how they end up at the local rectory, after buying spray bottles and a bucket from Mrs. and Mrs. Parkinson's hardware store, and telling a very bewildered priest that they plan on baptizing Dog but really want it to stick, and could he just lay hands over this water they've brought? A more cunning person might ask questions, but Deacon Smith has always been the convivial sort.[39] And so, precisely at noon, they arrive at the designated location to find Brian and Wensleydale waiting for them.

There's a pile of clothes laying inside of a red and blue plastic wagon that belongs to Wensleydale's younger brother. Beside it is a half-empty bag of mulch. The boys give Adam and Pepper a curious look when they plop the bucket down, but a quick explanation has them nodding in agreement.

It goes like this: Wensleydale fills the spray bottles with holy water and gives all the weapons a good dunking; even the individual bullets he's brought for the ancient shotgun get a sprinkle. The other three sort through the clothes to find something that will fit each of them, and then one by one, duck behind the tree to change. Brian ends up in a ratty brown button-up with holes slashed into the fabric; pairing this with baggy pants allows him to strap his cricket pads on underneath the fabric. Adam finds a ripped navy suit jacket that is only a little too big for his arms. Pepper acquires a grey dress whose edges are purposefully torn and tightens it with a black belt. And, after finishing with the holy water, Wensleydale shrugs on a filthy-looking trench-coat, which is large enough to hide the shotgun tucked into an inner pocket, and with a little effort, Brian's cricket helmet in the other (if anyone asks, it's a tumorous growth, that's suitably demonic, he expects).

Next, they grab handfuls of the mulch and wipe it all over their clothes and skin, loudly complaining about the stench before it fades into a background scent as they become accustomed to it. Having done all that, they store their good clothes under the remaining costumes in the wagon and park it and their bikes between two trees where no one should find them for a long while. Each of them takes a spray-bottle, and when Adam lets a drop fall to his palm, it sizzles and tingles a bit, though, still being human, it doesn't do anything more to him. They consider taking the rest of the water in the bucket, but it'd probably be suspicious to be lugging around, and they need to be stealthy and quick.

"I think this is the best we're going to get," Brian says, looking himself up and down. "God, if Casey could see me now."

"You mean your _girlfriend?_ " Pepper says, teasing. "Bet she wouldn’t touch you with a ten-foot pole looking like this."

Brian scowls, his cheeks reddening. "Casey's not-"

"We know, we know," Adam says, because yes, they've heard plenty about what Brian's new friend Casey likes to do and say and think over the last few weeks, but Brian refuses to admit that they're dating. "That's not important right now, what with my godfathers very probably being tortured in Hell, yeah? Come on."

The airfield is only a short, ten-minute walk from where they stand. They have no trouble getting on site; some high-ranking government official had _mysteriously_ decided around ten this morning that the stationed men needed to perform an emergency off-site training exercise, and now there are only a few remaining guards patrolling the airfield. It's easy enough for Adam to mentally nudge them to ignore the teenagers waltzing onto the base. Any who question it find themselves suddenly thinking: of course these four are allowed on site! They're very important![40]

Adam feels a trickle of sweat down his back as they walk towards that place, five years ago, where his former father burst out of the ground to lecture him about his responsibility to end the planet.

"Alright then?" Pepper asks when they come to a stop on the tarmac. She lifts the sword and neatly tucks it into the back of her dress, somehow magically getting it to stay there.[41] Brian's pants are baggy enough to fit the cricket bat down his leg, and he'll limp a because of it, which will only add to the demonic effect. As for Adam, well, what sort of demon _wouldn't_ have a pitchfork? He'll blend right in.

"Are we sure we've got everything we need?" Brian asks. "I don't think it'll be easy to get out once we get in there."

"What'll we do if we can't find them?" Wensleydale asks. "We can't wander around down there forever!"

"We'll find them," Adam assures him, but it's more to assure himself than anyone else. Adam has decided that he's not going to come back without his godfathers. If it comes to it, he'll try as hard as he can to magic the other three back up to Earth to keep them safe, and then continue on alone. But he doesn't need to go letting them know that for now.

"Hell's got no idea what it's in for," Pepper says, grinning as she meets Adam's eyes. He grins back, stomach flopping like a fish that has suddenly discovered it can't swim across the deck of a trawler.

"Alright, then..." Adam looks ahead, and points to the ground. "Let me see the door to Hell."

He thinks it's not going to work, but then a square of tarmac falls into blackness, and the square expands outwards as a larger void opens up. They watch as the spinning arms of a grimy looking escalator rise out of the void, stopping it's ascent with a cheery _ping!_ It crackles to life and creaks as the gears squeal and the stairs begin descending downwards.

Wensleydale peers into the darkness. "Well, I hope there's another one going the opposite way."

"We’ll figure it out," Adam says, with all the confidence of a teenage boy who's never really stopped to consider the phrase _don't count your chickens before they hatch_. "Come on then." He steps onto the escalator and grips the railing. "We've got a rescue to do."

The rest of the Them follow him in short order, and when they've all disappeared into the void the escalator vanishes with a _snap!_ that startles the pigeons eating a nearby abandoned sandwich. Quickly, they resettle and continue pecking, and no evidence of the escalator remains.

FOOTNOTES:

39 In addition, he's not going to pass on the chance to get the Them under the baptismal font again. They surely need it. [ return to text ]

40 Not that any of the guards can remember why. [ return to text ]

41 It might seem like magic to a boy like Adam, but to Pepper, it's just the power of a sturdy belt and a well-made brassiere. [ return to text ]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies to my beta but I will give up that "bra doubles as a hidden sword sheath" concept over my dead body lol


	7. Chapter 7

Aziraphale is breathing. Crowley can hear it, if he stays very still, and closes his eyes, and controls his own shaking, shuddering breath.

Aziraphale is breathing. Before, he was screaming, so loud and desperate until his voice went hoarse, and even after that, until he had no voice at all, just a pained series of whimpering noises.

Crowley can't stop crying. Looking at Aziraphale... it only makes it worse. But he has to look, because it's all his fault. He's the reason Aziraphale looks like that. And if Aziraphale is still breathing, he's still alive. Crowley's not sure whether he's glad or heartbroken for it. So, he makes himself look.

They took the wings first. The large one was horrifyingly silent as its arm sawed and sawed and Aziraphale screamed and screamed, so loud that Crowley couldn't even hear himself. Then the large one left, and another came, this one with a pointy blade that it stuck places that wouldn't kill Aziraphale but would hurt, and Aziraphale wept and pleaded for them to stop, and then pleaded and screamed for Crowley to help him when the demon began pressing the blade to one of his eyes. Crowley strained at the bonds until his wrists were smeared in his own blood, screaming too, but none of the screaming helped, and the demon took the eye.

Then, just when Crowley thought it might be enough, that they might stop for a while, _mercy, please, that must be enough,_ the thin one appeared and stretched its spindly hands around Aziraphale's fingers. The snap they made when they broke made Crowley vomit up the last dregs of the lovely picnic they'd had the day before, before all this. Aziraphale had stopped screaming by this time, slumped forward, barely making a noise as each bone fractured.

Now they're alone, though who knows for how long. And Crowley tracks each of Aziraphale's breaths; slow and watery. There's blood everywhere; his beautiful clothes stained red. The way he hangs, Crowley can't see the stumps of his wings or his ruined eye, and that's a small mercy.

"Angel..." Crowley says hoarsely. "Please, say something. Anything."

Aziraphale is silent. He doesn't even move.

" _Please_ ," Crowley begs. "Aziraphale. Please talk to me."

No response. Just the pained breaths of a body struggling to hold on.

Crowley bows his head and sobs brokenly. "I'm _s-sorry_ , angel," he sputters. "We _s-should_ have gone away. Should have left that fucking planet to rot." They could be in Alpha Centauri right now, riding meteors, spinning new stars into the sky and discovering far more interesting species on brand new planets. Instead they're here, all because they chose humanity over their own happiness.

It feels like ages before Crowley can bring himself to stop crying.[42] His arms ache and shoot with pains from the strain of hanging, and he closes his eyes and concentrates on these for a while, because it's better than thinking about Aziraphale.

They're alone for now, but sometime- maybe minutes from now, maybe centuries- someone will come back, and Aziraphale won't survive whatever torture they put him through next. And even if his soul survives and finds its way back upstairs, well, he's not an angel anymore. They won't give him a new body. Crowley will have lost him forever.

Words that Adam spoke three years prior worm their way into his brain. _If you love someone, you should tell them as soon as possible. You never know how long you've got with them. Even angels and demons can't live forever, can they?_

And all of it doesn't seem to matter now; all of the hesitation, the slow burn, the thoughts of _it'll happen when it happens_. How could he have wasted all this time? Six thousand _fucking_ years, and they have to be at the brink of death for Crowley to break through the doubt? What is _wrong_ with him? Doesn't Aziraphale deserve better?

"Angel…" Crowley croaks. "I don't know if you can hear me. God-Sat- _Someone_ , I hope you can. I'm sorry. Should've told you ages ago how I felt. I don't want to die without you knowing."

Aziraphale sways silently, unmoving.

"I- I love you, Aziraphale," Crowley says, voice cracking on the word _love_ , like it hurts, but, at the same time, feels so good to say. "Always have. Since the garden, since before, maybe, if we did know each other. You're the reason I stayed on this bloody planet. I'd be halfway across the galaxy now if leaving you behind wasn't impossible." He sighs, swallowing to try and wet his sore throat. "You were right, angel. There's a bit of Good in me, but it'd be snuffed out without you there to encourage it."

Crowley lifts his eyes and tilts his head back. He doesn't often turn his face to Her, he's always been afraid that She'll look back, see right through all his bluster and see that Good in him and decide to call him home, away from Earth, away from Aziraphale. So, he keeps his head down, keeps on doing all those little minor annoyances and temptations and small evils, because at least then, he'll stay where he is. He'll be Bad enough for Hell, but Good enough for Aziraphale.

"I know you're not listening," he says, sniffing. "Or maybe you are, but you're far too entertained by it to do a damned thing. Listen, I'll make you a deal. I'll take it all back, I'll never question again, I'll follow orders and grovel and wear white and stay up there and never experience all the world has to offer. But you _have_ to save Aziraphale. You have to take him back, _please_. Even- even if I never see him again." Oh, how that would hurt. It would hurt more than any pain Crowley's ever experienced. But if that's what it takes, he'll do it.

Crowley bows his head again. "Please save my angel," he murmurs. "Please call him home."

Of course, there's no answer, and he never really expected one from Her. He's never been Good enough to garner her attention, so why should that change now?

FOOTNOTES:

42It's really about twenty minutes by Earth standards, but as human children often discover on the last day before the summer holidays, time drags when you're being grievously tortured. [ return to text ]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dumb aside: I know this is a serious scene but ya'll have no idea how badly I wanted to continue Crowley's "I don't know if you can hear me," with "or if you're even there..." and transition to him singing _God Help the Outcasts._ It was a STRUGGLE, folks.
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who's been reading, commenting, bookmarking and kudos'ing!


	8. Chapter 8

One might think the escalator ride into Hell would take at least a few hours. When one is going into the depths of the underworld, a great deal of distance is to be expected. However, demons have never been very patient creatures, and unlike Crowley, most are looking to get up to Earth, do their business, and get back as quickly as possible. And since Hell is in its own separate reality, just as Heaven is, time and space only need to be twisted a bit around the escalator [43] to get the journey to take about two minutes.

The bottom of the elevator is a small, crowded lobby filled with rickety chairs that look like, no matter how much you weigh, they're bound to break apart if you try to sit in them. There are a few demons milling about, but they don't seem to pay the teenagers any mind. On the far wall is a set of double doors with shattered glass obscuring what lies behind them, other than a pale, dismal light. It's cold; far colder than what Adam knows Crowley likes.

"Act natural," Adam mutters, striding forwards, trying to look like he has every right to be there. Most of the demons are chatting amongst themselves about various demonic things.[44] The only one who pays them mind is a scaly-looking woman [45] who's leaning against the wall next to the doors.

"Didn't see you lot leave," she grumbles, squinting. "What's your department?"

"Inspections," Pepper states, arms folded. She's shorter than the rest of them but exudes more confidence than anyone else in the room. "We don't ever get things done within the mandated period, hence all the broken equipment and dangerous wiring exposures lying about."

The woman looks doubtful, straightening up off the wall. "You're a little too _human_ looking for my liking."

"What are you talking about?" Adam snaps. "Of course we're demons, we look exactly like demons are supposed to look!" Shit, they can't get caught at the bloody front door, after going to all this trouble!

The demon's eyes widen, and she steps back. "Oh, bloody Lucifer, yes you do. Ugliest lot of demons I've seen yet. Just- just go." She quickly strides away, giving them a nervous look.

"What d'you think that was abo-" Adam begins to say as he turns, but then freezes, letting out a yelp. "What the _fuck!_ "

Pepper's braids, normally neat and lacking sentience, have turned into great slithering snakes that hiss and spit drool down the sides of her cheeks, which are mottled, flesh melting away from the venom. The old dress is now torn about the shoulders and neck, and cockroaches crawl between the the holes. She wears no shoes, toenails long and yellowing and curled upwards.

Brian's brown button-down has three large slashes across it, with a purple, viscous liquid oozing from the wounds across his flesh. One of his eyes is missing, the socket sewn shut with jagged marks, and the other eyeball is translucent white. One of his legs has a gash dripping blood, white bone visible clear through, and his shoes look like they were marinated in mud and grime for a thousand years.

Wensleydale's short-cropped blond hair has grown long and wild, curls matted in a bird's nest [46] atop his scalp. Half of his face is seared with nasty, deep burns, the other half covered in poorly healed scars. The trench coat is in tatters, and there's a large gash across his stomach, from which his intestines seem to... well. You get the point.

Even Dog has been affected. His fur is matted with grime, his teeth have grown massive and hang out of his mouth, unable to be contained. His eyes glow red, and his tail is only a wagging stump.

Despite the clear amounts of ruination that should leave his friends screaming in pain, none of them seem affected, staring at Adam with their own looks of shock. "You look like- like demons!" he sputters. "Does it hurt? Can you feel it?"

They glance amongst each other. "We should ask you the same question," Wensleydale says, rummaging through his coat pocket and pulling out a small mirror that must have worked its way into the costume during a theater production. He offers it up, and Adam takes it.

When Adam opens the mirror, he almost drops it in shock. His hair is blown out and frizzled like he's Doc Brown's long-lost grandson. He's missing five teeth, one of which hangs from his gums by a single thread. The navy suit jacket is splattered in blood and torn at the cuffs, and one of his leg bones is sticking out of the flesh; he has to look away from that bit or he'll vomit.

Yet, when he runs his tongue over his teeth, he feels them all sitting in his mouth, and when he runs a hand through his hair, it feels normal; soft and curly. He doesn't look down, but he feels his leg and finds the skin unbroken, and no pain from a bone fracture.

"You said to that lady, we look like demons," Pepper says, nodding. "But that's just it. It's all a look."

"An _illusion_ , if you will," Brian says, grinning like he's just made a reference to some obscure TV show none of them have ever watched. "Wicked."

"I thought my powers wouldn't work down here," Adam says, frowning. "It doesn't make sense."

"Hmmmm," Wensleydale says, tapping his lower lip, which is split and oozing pus- or at least, that's how it looks to Adam. He averts his eyes and looks directly above Wensleydale's head instead. After a moment, the crow lets out a loud caw, and Wensleydale's eyes widen in realization. "Actually, it makes complete sense."

"How's that?" asks Brian.

Wensleydale explains. "Well, it's true, I expect, that Adam's powers don't work on demons or other things from this reality. But _we're_ not from this reality. We're still from Adam's reality. So, his powers would work on us."

"So, we look to the demons like Adam wants us to look," Pepper says. "Brian's right, this is wicked."

"Brilliant. It'll make it easier to hide in plain sight, that's for sure," Adam says, grinning. "Come on then, we might be back in time for dinner." The doubts he had coming down the escalator have scattered. This will be a piece of cake.

FOOTNOTES:

43Before the escalator, a ladder had been the only way to get up and down. Even Heaven and Hell could agree that the modern system was much more enjoyable for everyone involved. [ return to text ]

44This is a broad category, but on this day, the conversations mostly pertain to a certain large Western nation and a particular leader's social media feed. Demons adore Twitter. [ return to text ]

45She was, of course, not a woman, but a demon. [ return to text ]

46This is a literal description. There are sticks and twigs and leaves and an ugly looking crow cawing as it sits atop the mass. [ return to text ]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short one tonight. The feedback on this fic has been pretty incredible, I'm shocked and delighted at how many people are reading. Thanks for keeping with it!


	9. Chapter 9

This is not a piece of cake.

The Them have been shuffling along through an endless crowd of demons for 20 minutes. Hell is a lot more cramped than Adam expected, what with all the paintings and drawings done by artists throughout the centuries that portray a Hell of large, cavernous spaces filled with lava and pools of blood and flames and humans speared on pikes having their eyeballs plucked out. This feels more like when he watches American television and they make jokes about their Department of Motor Vehicles. Or a darker, smellier version of _The Office._ [47] There are shelves and carts overflowing with file folders of paperwork, extremely discordant motivational posters on the walls, odd wet puddles that don't seem to have a bottom (so they avoid stepping in them), and every overhead light seems liable to crash to the floor. The layout of the place makes no sense; hallways that lead to dead ends, rooms with ten exit doors, staircases down into darkness where screams echo upwards.

"Have you seen anything suspicious yet?" Pepper whispers to Adam as the take slow steps.

"Besides the whole bloody place?" Adam whispers back.

Pepper rolls her eyes. "I meant, like, a clue to where they've gone. A demon you recognize? A room that looks like a torture chamber?"

"I've spent exactly as much time down here as you have," Adam retorts. "I guess I just didn't realize how... _big_ Hell must be."

"It isn't as though there are any signs, are there?" Brian mumbles from behind them. "They all seem to know where they're supposed to be. We're the ones walking around with our heads up our arses like bloody _tourists_."

"Alright, this is getting us nowhere," Wensleydale says, and he motions them to duck into a corridor where the demons don't seem to walk through much.

They circle around and Adam watches as each of them turns to look at him expectantly. "Oh, what I'm supposed to come up with the plan?" he snaps, frustrated by the assumption.

"You're the one who always does," Pepper throws back. "It's kind of your _thing_."

Adam sighs. "Well, we need information if we're going to find their trail. A proper rescue never happens without the heroes learning how to get into the villain's lair. And they can't have brought an angel down into Hell without word getting around, right?"

"Depends on how sneaky they were," Brian says, as the expert[48] on this kind of thing. "If they smuggled 'em in, only the real seedy types might know what was going on."

"I thought they were all seedy," Pepper points out.

"No, there's gotta be, like levels," Brian says. "We know Mr. Crowley wasn't as bad as some of them. So, there've gotta be some real wankers down here."

"I think Brian's right," Adam says. A plan is starting to form in his brain[49] and he glances around the corner, grabbing the shoulder of the nearest demon, which turns out to not be a shoulder so much as a blob of living humanoid goo with the head of a balding man on top. Adam swallows back his nausea and presses on. "Erm, 'scuse me," he says, and the demon's eyebrows shoot up in surprise. Right, politeness isn't a thing down here. "Hey, slimeball," he croaks in his most grumbly, demonic growl. "Where's a demon go looking down here when he wants to find the most trouble?"

The demon grins menacingly with dozens of sharp teeth[50] and Adam has to force himself not to leap backwards out of fear. It opens its mouth and it's voice hisses out through a cloud of smoke. "The Pub, of course," it says.

Wensleydale pops his head around the corner. "Which pub?"

"The _only_ Pub, you know that, we all know that," it growls, beginning to eye them suspiciously.

"Right, of course," Adam says, nodding. "He's only messing with you, see?"

The Them all jump when the demon lets out a cackle. "Of course! Much appreciated, mate," it says, then oozes away.

Adam wipes his hand off on the coat and prays that whatever that thing was made of, it doesn't mutate him or give him any horrible diseases. "That was awful," he says. "Let's not do that again."

Pepper pulls a handkerchief out of the pocket of her dress and hands it to Adam, who gives her a grateful look and uses it to wipe more slime off. "At least now we know where we're going," she says, peering around the corner. "Should've known it would be a pub; that's where all the seedy types go back home."

"But where exactly is the Pub?" Wensleydale asks. "We didn't ask him."

"Guess we'll ask someone else," Brian says, shrugging. "I'll rock-paper-scissors you for it."

The outcome of that game will forever remain hypothetical, because at that moment, Adam sees a pair of fetid, rotting arms that he instantly recognizes, having seen them not 24 hours previously. They belong to a demon with wispy white hair and a festering hole where half her face should be. Adam grabs Pepper and Wensleydale's shoulders and whispers, " _look,_ look at that one! That's one of the ones that took Crowley!"

"Are you certain?" Pepper asks. "There's a lot of oozy ones down here."

"I'm almost certain," Adam says. "We should follow her. She's seedy enough, maybe she's heading for the Pub."

Brian is the tallest of the Them, and the widest, so he takes the lead to force their way through the crowd and keep on the demon's tail, though not too close.[51] The demon is moving slowly and doesn't seem to sense she's being followed. A few times the crowd gets thicker and threatens to hold them back, but a few strategic nips from Dog delivered to demonic ankles have them jumping out of the way, shooting dirty looks at the animal before passing it by.

Luck is apparently on their side today. They pass through a small corridor into a slightly larger room, and the door ahead has a broken neon red sign dangling above it, spelling out the words THE PUB in twitchy red lettering. "Only bloody sign in the whole place," Pepper mutters.

"I expect demons spend a lot of time drinking," Wensleydale states. "They'd want to make sure they don’t forget a place like this."

The room they enter is about two feet taller than the rest of Hell, and thrice as wide as any room they've been in previously. The left side holds a crumbling bar with a chipped, cracked wood counter, slime and sick over every inch of space, and shattered shards of glass beneath. The bottles of what is presumably alcohol are mostly broken and leaking all over the back wall, and as they watch, the insectoid bartender[52] takes a cracked glass and uses its spindly hands to wipe leaking liquid off the shelves and into the glass, handing it across to a demon with a sword sticking through its throat. The demon nods at the bartender, snaps one of its own fingers off and hands it over- payment- and then tips the glass back, chugging. The viscous liquid goes down it's throat, and then drips out around the sword.

The right side of the room is set up as some sort of dance floor, with a half-gone disco ball twisting above and casting a bunch of glinting little lights that, if you're unlucky enough to get blinded by one, will make you see spots behind your eyes for the next three hundred years. The floor is cracked and covered in rubble and old linoleum tiles. The DJ stands behind a table with an antique looking gramophone, changing tracks, and when he presses the needle down, what comes out can only be described as a hellish version of _You're Having My Baby_ combined with _Night Fever_ , played through a squeaky trombone.

"There," Pepper says, pointing. The demon they've been following slips through a door at the far end of the room, and Brian dutifully shoves his way through the crowd until they reach the door and pass through it.

It's a lot quieter in the hallway, although they can still hear strains of _You're Having My Night Fever Baby_ echoing through the metal door. Adam hears voices coming from a door at the end of the hall that's cracked open three inches, and he raises his finger to his lips, signaling that the group should go quietly for the next bit. As they creep down the hall, the voices get louder, and audible.

"-believe we've got our handsss on genuine angel feathersss!" hisses a scratchy wisp of a voice. "Do you know how much they'll sssell for on the Vanta Market?[53] We'll be rolling in filth, Ssssezzlibif!"

"You're thinking small potatoes, Vuldris," says a smoother, deeper feminine voice, who must be Sezzlibif. "The wings are just where we get our start. Those two fools are our ticket to the easy life."

"How do you figure?" asks Vuldris. "That'ssss the mosssst valuable part of the angel. The ressst of him doesss usss no good."

"Incorrect," Sezzlibif chides. "Consider, how badly do most of the demons down here wish they were on the battlefield right now, ripping members of the heavenly host to pieces? How much do you think our compatriots would pay to spend time with a genuine angel, all nice and chained up, doing whatever they want to it?"

"But the angel'sss half dead already," Vuldris whines. "Why can't we jussst off him? I want to sssee that demon'sss reaction. He'll ssscream and sssob better than any human I've tortured will."

Adam swallows as icy fear shoots down his spine. They're talking about Aziraphale and Crowley. They must be. He was right; they're in terrible danger.

"Eventually, you will," Sezzlibif assures the other demon. "But think of all of Hell's pleasures you could afford if we spent a few thousand years renting him out. His body is resilient, and time doesn't pass here in the same way it does on Earth. We'll give him time to heal, maybe find a demonic cleric who can reattach these and restore him over and over, like how they do with the other tortured souls down here. And then we'll find buyers and let them have their fun. You'll get to see the demon's reaction repeatedly, in a thousand little new, delightful ways. How does that sound?"

" _Exquisssite_ ," Vuldris purrs. "You're a genius, darling."

"Enough for now," Sezzlibif says. "We need to meet the others and discuss plans. Shall we?"

Adam jerks back from the door, looking about in a panic. There's another door a little way back down the hall, and when they open it, the broken broom handles and overturned, holey[54] buckets make it obvious this is a demonic janitorial closet. They all manage to shove inside and close the door, holding their breaths as the hear two sets of feet shuffling by. Pepper is pressed up against Adam's back. Underneath the pervasive stench of manure, he can smell the oil she always puts in her hair, and suddenly he's very, _very_ glad that she's behind him and not vice versa or it might get... awkward.

When they can't hear anything else, Adam twists the doorknob and peeks out. The corridor is empty, silent. Wordlessly, he walks towards the back room.

"Adam, where are you going?" Wensleydale asks.

Adam doesn't say anything. He heard what Sezzlibif said, and he knows what he'll find, but he needs to go in that room, he needs to _see_. He reaches the end of the corridor and doesn't give himself time to hesitate, pushing the door open.

The room looks like a small office, with a rusted lamp hanging above and a desk shoved into the corner. There's a table in the middle of the room, and lying on that table...

The other three run up behind him, and Wensleydale lets out a gasp.

"Are- are those..." Pepper says.

"Aziraphale's wings," Adam states, swallowing. He steps into the room to get a full view of the carnage. The feathers were always the purest white, and Aziraphale took great pride in them; they were always a bit messy, loose feathers scattering about when he unfurled them, but there was an air of disheveled beauty to it all. Now most of them are splattered with gore, lying limply next to one another, the ends of them bloody stumps.

Adam lets out a yell that makes the other three jump and slams his fists on the table. Hot, angry tears start to drip down his cheeks.

"Adam..." Brian starts. "Don't give up hope, mate."

"Why shouldn't I?" Adam shouts. "This is my fault! They- they were just trying to _protect_ me and this is what they got for it! I didn't listen, I just kept pushing them away and now- now..." He can't see anymore, too many tears, so he rests his forehead on the table and cries softly. Dog rubs his head against Adam's legs, whining in sympathy.

"We can fix this," Wensleydale pipes up. "We'll find them, and you can fix it."

"How?" Adam asks miserably. "My powers don't work on angels and demons."

"But last time-" Brian tries, only to be cut off.

"Last time was _different_ , don't you understand? Back then, I was still the son of Satan. I could affect other realities. Now I'm just a human with a couple extra skills." He sniffs, shivering. "Zira's an angel. I can't give him back his wings or heal whatever else they did to him. I can't fix this."

The room is silent for a moment, and then Adam feels a strong hand grip his shoulder and yank him back, spinning him around. Pepper's angry eyes are inches from his own as she straightens to her full height and gets far too close into his space for his liking.

"You listen here, you _infuriating_ wanker!" Pepper yells. "You told the bloody devil to go back to Hell when you were eleven! You stopped the world from ending and protected everyone you love from a fate worse than death! So, don't tell me that now, at sixteen _fucking_ years old, you're going to let some stupid little demons stop you from saving your godfathers. That's- that's pathetic!"

Adam's jaw is on the metaphorical floor. He's used to Pepper's outbursts, but this is more like a volcanic eruption. He stammers for something to say but can figure out no response. How do you respond to that level of passion?

And she's right. He is being a bit pathetic. Dramatic, even. They went through all this to get down here and now he's just going to give up?

"I don't know what to do," Adam admits, wiping his eyes. "Honestly. I mucked it up, we should've followed them out to see if they were going to Zira and Crowley, but now who knows where they are."

"I think we've got a solution for that," Brian says. They all turn to see him holding up a splattered feather. "Mr. Fell's gotta have a scent, right? And I expect dragging those wings from wherever they're keeping him created a trail. D'you think Dog could track it?"

"Maybe," Adam says. "It couldn't hurt to try." He takes the feather from Brian and squats down. Dog sits eagerly, little stump wagging; even with the demonic illusion, he exudes an air of cuteness. Adam holds the feather out. "Could you follow this scent, boy? Lead us to Zira? I'll give you every bone in the house when we get back if you do, promise."

Dog sniffs the feather eagerly, and then yaps excitedly, future-oriented and motivated by promises of treats.[55] He twists around and bounds through the doorway, nose to the ground, following a trail. Adam can only hope it's the right one.

"Come on," Pepper says, smiling at Adam. "Let's go save your godparents."

FOOTNOTES:

47The British version of course, you _heathens._ [ return to text ]

48Brian's collection of action movies is as vast and unfathomable as the universe. He will argue with you until the end of creation that _Die Hard_ is a Christmas movie, and the _Matrix_ Trilogy is, in fact, actually good. [ return to text ]

49Damn them all for being correct about that. [ return to text ]

50Despite Adam's alarm, this is a perfectly congenial way of greeting another demon. [ return to text ]

51Brian's action movie collection is dwarfed only by his spy movie collection. [ return to text ]

52A literal barfly. [ return to text ]

53Hell, being Hell, must have a market seedier and eviler than Earth's Black Market. They had trouble with the name for a while, until one demon came back from Earth talking about this shade of color humans had created that was blacker than the blackest black, and the supreme arsehole who'd bought the copyright in order to make himself the only person ever allowed to use it, and the name just stuck. [ return to text ]

54Definitely not holy. [ return to text ]

55Dog, originating as a creation of Hell, has a special affinity for the word _bone_ and the images of crunching and snapping and splattering and screaming it conjures. The fact that most of the bones he gets nowadays are small, brown, and decidedly more grain than marrow is his only regret about staying on Earth. [ return to text ]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout to my beta for coming up with the barfly joke (and shoutouts to anyone who gets the Vanta joke. To quote my beta, "Anish Kapoor is a massive cock." :D)


	10. Chapter 10

Crowley is exhausted enough that he spends the next few hours slipping shallowly in and out of sleep, jerking fully awake when he hears the sound of the door opening. A little hell dog with an air of familiarity about it prances inside, looks up at him, and yaps. The door opens wider, and a shorter, frizzy haired demon steps inside, stopping when it sees Crowley hanging.

"You're not one of the ones who was here before," Crowley says. "Why're you carrying a pitchfork? Those haven't been in vogue since the sixteen-hundreds at least.[56] And your hair could do with a barber. I could recommend an Earth one, but I’m assuming you’re not keen on popping up to London for a trim.”

"Oh, right," the demon says, in a voice that it can't possibly have, because that's what Adam Young sounds like, and this isn't Adam. "Um, so how about we look like demons to everyone _except_ Crowley and Zira? Yeah, that's it."

And all at once, there's no longer a demon, but a teenage boy in an over-sized suit jacket, gripping a pitchfork.

" _Adam!_ " Crowley gasps. The feeling of dread that's been hanging over him since they got into this mess abates slightly. "You're not something a demon's conjured to torture me with, right?"

"I hope not," Adam says. "That'd just be awful." Adam glances left, and Crowley watches his expression morph from neutral to horrified when he sees Aziraphale; sees the state he's in. "Oh, _Zira…_ Everyone, inside, we need to help them."

To Crowley's absolute shock, the rest of Adam's little gang of friends pile into the room, each dressed in tattered clothes with visible, weapon-shaped bulges underneath. It's a wonder they got this far, looking like that.

"How do we get them down?" Brian asks. "We didn't get a key."

"We don't need one, I think," Wensleydale says. He pulls something out of his trench coat. Crowley experiences deja vu when he sees the spray bottle and realizes what it contains. Wensleydale takes a step towards Crowley. "This will probably dissolve the chains, seeing as they're demonic and all."

"No, Aziraphale first!" Crowley says, jerking desperately. "Get him down, you have to get him _down_ , he's lost so much blood..."

"Okay, okay," Adam says gently, raising his hands up and approaching Crowley. "There's four of us, we can each two work on you."

Brian grips Aziraphale's limp body around the waist while Wensleydale leans up and drenches the chains with the holy water. As expected, they snap as soon as the water eats through the metal. Pepper and Adam do the same for Crowley, Adam catching him under the shoulders and helping him steady as the blood comes back into his arms and his feet touch the floor for the first time in ages. Crowley hisses and leans against his godson, pain lancing through his limbs as the feeling returns.

Brian and Wensleydale stretch Aziraphale out on the floor, resting Aziraphale's head on Wensleydale’s bundled up trench coat. When Crowley can move again, he pulls out of Adam's grasp and goes to his knees, scrambling over to kneel beside Aziraphale’s still form. Crowley gently touches Aziraphale’s cheek; it's cold and pale. His chest rises and falls, but slowly; barely any sign that he’s still alive.

"Angel..." Crowley pulls Aziraphale up and holds him to his chest, pressing his face into Aziraphale's curls and letting more tears flow. Below him, Aziraphale is silent, unmoving. No one bothers Crowley, they’re all smart enough to know he needs a moment, so they let him kneel there, holding Aziraphale tight. Crowley breathes in Aziraphale's familiar scent and shakes and cries and begs whoever's listening to not let his angel die.

After a time, Crowley feels a hand on his shoulder. "We need to get him out of here," Adam says, squatting next to him. "We can get him to a hospital, get him a blood transfusion until he wakes up and he can heal himself- but wait, why haven't you done it?"

"I _can't_ ," Crowley blurts out in a broken voice. "I'm not a demon anymore. They stripped me of my rank, my powers, _everything._ And him too... he's not an angel anymore."

Pepper covers her mouth, eyes wide; Brian and Wensleydale look just as stunned. Adam digs his nails into his palms as a fresh wave of despair threatens to bubble up, but no. He can’t give up now. Crowley and Zira need him. He nods his head, swallowing. "Alright, then like I said. We'll get him out of here and to a hospital. His body will need blood and fluids and potentially antibiotics. What about you? You don't look that... hurt."

"I had to watch," Crowley says miserably. "That was enough."

"Crowley... I'm sorry. If it wasn't for me-"

"If it wasn't for you, we'd all be dust right now," Crowley snaps angrily. "Save me the pity party, Adam Young. Help me save Aziraphale."

~

With Crowley's help, an escape plan becomes possible. Crowley knows the layout of Hell by heart and promises that if they get him out of this room, he can lead them to safety. The next issue becomes how to distract thousands upon thousands of demons long enough to keep them from noticing four unfamiliar demons who are ferrying the most famous traitor and his angel companion through the depths of Hell. Again, Crowley has a solution.

"You humans have these things called fire drills, yeah? Well, we've got a similar thing called a holy drill. It's our preparation for if Heaven ever decides to try chemical warfare. Y'know, like holy water or heavenly light. So, someone can pull an alarm, and everyone will scatter."

"But where do they go?" Wensleydale asks. "Earth? We can't be sending the whole host of Hell upstairs just to get ourselves out."

"Nah," Crowley says, shaking his head. "They don't go to Earth. The doors here go plenty of other places; different planets and galaxies. I've heard that you want to be on the east end when the alarm goes off, so your evacuation route goes to the planet of Eternal Pleasures and Luxuries. The ones that evacuate there don't tend to come back for a while. Or ever."

"So how long would that give us?" Pepper asks. "Eventually they'll realize it's a false alarm."

"Should be enough time to get to the exit," Crowley says, running a hand through Aziraphale's hair. He hasn't moved off the floor, and Adam expects that if he suggests maybe someone else take care of Aziraphale, he would be met with a reaction akin to when Dog refuses to let go of his favorite toy.[57] "This place is both bigger and smaller than you'd expect. Besides, you all seem to have come well equipped for a fight, if it comes to that."

"And so that leaves you with Mr. Fell," Brian states. He's removed his cricket bat from his pants and is resting it across his shoulders. Pepper's done the same with her sword,[58] and Wensleydale is loading his shotgun with bullets. Brian twirls his cricket helmet in his other hand and continues. "Are you sure you'll be able to carry him by yourself?"

"I've, er had to do it before," Crowley mutters, then quickly stammers, "Y'know, when he's gotten a bit too much wine into his system and I'm too tired to sober us both up! That's the only time he ever sleeps, and I can't just leave him on the floor, can I?"

Everyone is polite enough to cough, look away, and keep their thoughts to themselves.

"Besides," Crowley says. "His wings are gone now, so... he'll be lighter."

"Right," Adam says, wanting to blow past that morbid detail as fast as possible. "So, here's how it'll go..."

Plan set, they take a moment to prepare. Adam kneels next to Crowley with the spray bottle of holy water.

"This shouldn't hurt you if I use it to destroy the rest of the metal," Adam says, motioning to the manacles that are still around Aziraphale and Crowley's wrists. "Y'know, if you're no longer a demon."

Crowley winces, but it's the truth, so he holds out his wrists. A quick spray of the water confirms this; the manacles drop to the ground, and Crowley's skin is smooth, without a mark or burn in sight.

"How d'you stand it?" Crowley asks, as he helps lift Aziraphale's wrists so Adam can free them as well.

"Stand what?" Adam asks, depressing the plunger and spraying Aziraphale's wrists.

Crowley shrugs. "Being human. Knowing you'll die someday. You're just drawing out the inevitable."

Adam pauses. "Are you planning on killing yourself any time soon? I went to all this trouble; I'd hate to see it wasted."

That gets a slight smile from Crowley and breaks some of the tension that's held the room hostage for the last twenty minutes. "No, not saying that. Just trying to understand your reasoning."

"I think we all die, someday," Adam says, catching Aziraphale's manacles and throwing them aside. "Angels and demons too. Maybe even God or Satan. But right now, I'm here, and I'm alive, and I wouldn't be if not for you."

"That's not true," Crowley objects. "You're a smart human. You'd have figured it out."

"No, I wouldn't have," Adam replies, shaking his head. "I only felt brave enough to stand up to my father because you and Zira were by my side. 'Cause I knew that you loved life and this planet and _us_ enough to sacrifice everything you had, and everything you were, to make sure it survived, right? So, if you were willing to do that, it must be worth protecting."

Crowley's eyes are so expressive when Adam can actually see them. Now he sees a sense of wonder, an awe that should be reserved for a higher power, not a teenage boy who doesn't appreciate what he's got until he almost loses it. Adam ducks his head, because he can't stand to see that look any more. He doesn't deserve it. He continues talking, taking one of Aziraphale's hands as he does so, trying to warm it with his own. "So, I guess what I'm saying is, I want to find out exactly what you had that was worth standing against all the forces of Heaven and Hell. Whatever it is, I think it's worth living to experience myself."

"We had each other," Crowley murmurs, looking down at Aziraphale's still form. "That's what it was. Not the food or the wine or the clothes or the art. None of it mattered, if I didn't share it with him. Everything I gave up, it was all worth it, for a little more time together." He takes a shuddering breath. “He will always be worth it, whatever the cost.”

"So then." Adam stands up, holding his hand out to Crowley. "I guess I need to find my version of that."

Crowley looks over then at Pepper and Brian and Wensleydale, who are chatting and laughing and preparing to fight. Three friends who followed Adam into the depths of hell to save his godfathers without knowing whether they'd survive it, who he wouldn't have made it this far without, and who wouldn't let him go into danger alone.

Crowley smiles. "I think you already have."

FOOTNOTES:

56Despite the circumstances, nothing will prevent Crowley from being bitchy about people's fashion choices. [ return to text ]

57Eventually, either one of them wins and manages to tear it away, or they tear it in half. Adam would rather not risk the latter with his godfather. [ return to text ]

58Crowley had given her a look when she'd pulled it out, but she'd met him with a level gaze, and he said nothing about it. [ return to text ]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may notice the chapter count has decreased; I realized that these sections were too small to make individual chapters and made more sense going together. Only 3 to go now!


	11. Chapter 11

They spot the holy alarm at the end of the corridor.

The hallway isn't empty when Wensleydale peeks his head outside. There's a demon leaning against the wall next to the alarm, reading a book with a spine so cracked it’s basically a loose budle of papers at this point. The demon’s presence presents a problem. If the demon sees them pull the alarm, it'll know the drill isn’t real and alert management. Maybe some of the demons will clear out, but probably not all of them, and they'll probably come back far quicker. No, this needs to be done stealthily.

Luckily, Wensleydale has brought the perfect tool for the job.

There isn't a grand story behind the creation of the slingshot. Wensleydale watched a YouTube video one day around four years ago and decided that spending the summer afternoon knocking old glass bottles off the back fence sounded like a wicked time. They'd also recently attempted to start a Dungeons and Dragons campaign [59] and Wensleydale had created a halfling rogue and thought the slingshot would be a great way to get into character. He'd gone a little more high tech than your average childhood ordinance; the Y frame was stainless steel with a plush grip at the bottom for comfort and ease, the rubber band sling was woven together with several bands for extra heft and to prevent snapping, and the pouch was extra-large to allow greater size stones to be shot. He'd only spent a few short weeks practicing with the thing [60] and it had sat in a pencil holder on his desk for the last several years until today. He's rusty, but then again, he'd spent those few weeks practicing obsessively.

His first shot flies past the demon and clatters down the hallway behind it. The demon looks up as Wensleydale ducks back into the room, and it twists around to try and see what the noise was. This gives Wensleydale enough time to step back out, take careful aim at the alarm [61], send up a quick prayer for luck, realize that prayers probably won't make it upstairs, shrug, and fire. The stone hits the button dead center, and a loud alarm begins to blare. [62]

The demon nearly drops its book in surprise, but doesn't even hesitate to start running, quickly disappearing down the hall. It must prefer ignorance to risking its existence in case the alarm is real. Wensleydale steps back into the room, shuts the door, and they all wait.

Every few moments, they hear the slam of a distant door and footsteps pounding down the corridor past them, a multitude of demonic voices squabbling to get out of each other’s way. The place where the demons have been keeping Aziraphale and Crowley is off the main thoroughfares of hell, so it doesn't take long before the footsteps stop and there's no noise besides the blaring alarm.

"I think we're in the clear," Wensleydale says, turning around to face the rest. "Are we ready?"

Carefully, Crowley slides his arms under Aziraphale's limp body and, despite being a lanky bastard who looks as though a stiff wind could knock him over, easily hefts the angel [63] up, cradling Aziraphale against his chest. "Ready," he says, nodding.

Pepper lowers the sword off her shoulder, gripping it with both hands. She shoots Wensleydale a grin and nods. "Ready."

Brian cracks his shoulders, twirling the cricket bat in his right hand. "Ready."

Dog barks. [64]

Adam looks to Crowley, and then to Aziraphale, who's far too pale and streaked with blood, who stood against his own creator to save the Earth, who gave up London to make sure Adam stayed safe and happy, and who has always showed him an endless well of unconditional love.

Adam can't let him die, because he still has to say thank you.

"Ready," he says.

They open the door and step out into the empty hallway. Now, despite the failure of the Dungeons and Dragons campaign four years previously, they all did learn a little something about tactics and preparing for close-quarters combat. Brian, as the strongest and the only one wearing any sort of protective gear takes the forward position; cricket bat held aloft and hands definitely not shaking. Pepper is right behind, sword at the ready, preparing to leap out and return any blows aimed at Brian with the full force of an angelic weapon. Crowley and Adam take the middle, with Adam's pitchfork ready to stab and thrust and keep anyone who tries well away from the weaponless, vulnerable beings beside him. Last in line, Wensleydale covers the rear with his rifle in case of a sneak attack. Dog is the rogue element, but he seems happy to circle the group, sometimes in the front, sometimes at the back, the most agile and capable of taking out their opponent's lower extremities. [65]

It takes a few minutes of wandering through eerily empty rooms aimlessly, but then Crowley says, "Wait I remember this room, this is where they dismembered all the Nazis back in the 40s" [66] and suddenly he's guiding them efficiently down corridors, telling them to avoid opening certain doors unless they want to see what’s behind it [67] and pointing out various landmarks that might seem interesting for demons: torture chambers where various historical figures are being eternally flayed alive [68], the entrance to the River of Fire tubing attraction [69] and a blood-splattered alcove that Crowley calls The Place We Do Not Speak Of, and obviously won't elaborate on. Adam's going to have to have a conversation with the local Archdiocese after this; there are some geographical descriptions of Hell in Revelations that could do with an update.

They're travelling down a long corridor with dozens of doors on each side when they hear voices coming from around the next corner.

"Everybody freeze!" Pepper hisses.

"Shit," Adam says, looking around frantically for an escape, "Crowley, can we hide in any of these rooms?"

Crowley makes a face as if he's going to be sick. "No. No, we _really_ don't want to do that.”

The voices grow louder as, about a hundred feet down the hall, two beings turn the corner. They seem to be in the middle of an argument.

"Thisss doesssn't feel right, Sssezzlibif!" Vudris yelps, waving his bony arm outwards. "A holy alarm hasssn't rung in over three-hundred yearsss, and the day we capture ourssselvesss a rogue demon and an angel, one jussst happensss to go off? Sssomeone isss trying to poach our find!"

Sezzlibif seems calm and amused by her companion's outburst. "Our group is the only one that even knows the traitor and the angel are down here, Vuldris, other than you-know-who, and they said they didn’t care what happened to those beings once they were captured. There's no reason to-"

She turns her head and stops talking. Vuldris does as well, and both demons freeze, the two groups eyeing one another across the length of the hall.

" _THIEVESSS!_ " Vuldris bellows, summoning black fire into its spindly hands.

" _Shit_ ," Pepper and Brian say at the same time.

Adam yelps, "We don't have time to be picky, Crowley! Which one's the least horrible?"

"That one, definitely that one!" Crowley shouts, motioning to a door on the left.

Brian yanks the door open just in time; Vuldris' fire slams into the glass window, which shatters but protects the group as they scramble into the room. Wensleydale is the last in, but he pauses in the doorway.

"What are you doing?" Pepper shouts. "Get inside, you daft bastard!"

"Hold on," Wensleydale says, and he yanks the spray bottle out of his jacket. Quickly, he untwists the cap and splashes the whole floor in front of the doorway. The concrete sizzles and Vuldris and Sezzlibif come to a halt thirty feet away, Vuldris scrabbling away and shrieking. "Get around that, you arseholes!" Wensleydale shouts, then slams the door shut.

"Brilliant, Wensleydale," Adam says, giving him a high-five. He turns to Crowley next. "Can you find us a way around them?"

"It's a little more roundabout and much riskier, but yes," Crowley says, nodding. "We have to hope that they're stupid enough to not know where I'm going."

"Demons don't seem very smart to me, to be honest," Brian says. "Lot of scheming and giggling madly about evil plans, and they let some teenagers waltz into their secret base and rescue some captives right under their noses? A bunch of idiots."

Crowley raises an eyebrow. "I'm a demon you know."

"Eh," Brian shrugs. "Like I said."

The corridors appear endless and without distinctive features, but Crowley seems to know where he's going, and so they continue onward. What they see in certain rooms involving saws and knives and hooks and body parts shall be left vague for the benefit of the reader's undisturbed future sleep. [70]

"You're paying for my therapy bills, Mr. Crowley," Pepper says as she slams the door shut after traveling through a particularly gruesome room. "For the next thirty years."

Crowley grins. "After this rescue, kid, I'll buy you your own therapist."

"How far is it now?" Adam asks. It feels like it's been ages since they rung the alarm. The demons must be returning to Hell soon. If they get caught unawares by too many, they'll be dead. [71]

"Not much farther," Crowley states. "Another few corridors."

"How's Zira?" Adam asks.

Crowley looks down, frowning worriedly. "Still with us but getting worse. Someone should be at the ready to call the paramedics as soon as we're out. Even then, I'm not sure..." He swallows, eyes watering.

Adam grips his shoulder and squeezes. "We'll make it. Promise."

Finally, even Adam begins to recognize where they are; they passed through some of these rooms when they first came to Hell. They just have to get to the escalator. One more hallway. One more set of doors.

Brian slams into the double doors at the entrance, throwing them open wide, and the whole group pauses in the entrance lobby of Hell. There are demons coming down the very end of the escalator, at least half a dozen, who probably got caught near here when the alarm went off and had no better place to evacuate to except Earth. Adam imagines the sight of half a dozen demons milling about on the airfield, glaring at any humans who dared come close enough to investigate. It would be funny, if they weren’t now blocking the group’s path to freedom.

"Oi!" One of them shouts. "Izzn't that th' traitor Crowley?"

"Would you believe I'm a very accurate body double?" Crowley shouts back.

" _No!_ " The demon roars, hefting a jagged blade.

"Worth a shot," Crowley says. "Can you lot handle this?"

The answer will have to be yes. The half dozen demons come charging and screeching at them. Crowley steps to the back as Wensleydale moves forward and takes one of the demons out with a perfectly aimed shot through the head. It doesn't even have the chance to react; the holy-water-blessed bullet shatters its skull and it evaporates into thousands of tiny black flecks. Brian meets the largest one's charge by catching its heavy hammer on the edge of his cricket bat, holding to out like a shield; the demonic wood of the hammer catches fire when it touches the bat, and the demon drops it, screeching. A swing to its head with the bat finishes it off. A speedy demon darts to the right, trying to pass them by to get to Crowley, but Pepper yells and uses all of her finely tuned reaction speed to lunge forward, catching the demon across the chest with the sword and slicing it cleanly in two. A bat-winged demon rises over their heads, but Adam's pitchfork is long enough to stab it in the stomach; it falls to the ground, screaming as it dissolves.

The remaining two demons, having seen their compatriots meet horrible ends, halt their charge and stand awkwardly ten feet away, eyeing up the group.

"Demons with blessed weapons, what's the world comin' to?" says one.

"This isn't my department," says the other. "This isn't even in my pay grade."

They step to the side.

The group doesn't waste their opportunity, running past the demons, keeping eyes on them just in case they try anything funny. "Cheers, mate," Crowley says as he runs past. "Sorry for the mess, but I expect you're used to it down here!"

The escalator, like any regular Earth model, has a switch that reverses the direction it's moving. Pepper flips it and then pours some of the holy water over the handle, so that it melts and melds to the machine; they don't need their escape plan being foiled by the conveniences of modern technology. Then they all pile onto the stairs, taking a breath as it travels upwards.

"Wensleydale, as soon as you have a signal, call 999," Adam directs. Crowley is sitting on the escalator steps, cradling Aziraphale, and Adam presses a hand to Aziraphale's forehead. He's so cold, and Adam can't tell if he's even breathing.

Crowley meets his eyes with a pained desperation. "I can't lose him, Adam. I _can't._ "

"I know," Adam says, swallowing hard. "Neither can I."

The trouble is, Adam doesn't know if they'll make it in time.

FOOTNOTES:

59This would end disastrously three weeks later when, upon being unable to come to an agreement over whether a troll they were fighting preferred Saturdays to Sundays, Adam had lit all their character sheets on fire with his mind and stomped away. He apologized later, but it put a damper on the whole affair. [ return to text ]

60See previous footnote as to why. [ return to text ]

61The alarm consists of a large white button on an outlet panel with little pained on wings on either side. The words ANGEL ALARM are written in bold red across the button. Surrounding the panel, and definitely not regulation, is a bunch of scrawled graffiti, including such scintillating phrases such as “ANGELS ARE PRISY WANKERS” and “FOR A GOOD TIME, DIAL 01865 666666.” [ return to text ]

62It's comparably far more enjoyable to hear than the music at The Pub. [ return to text ]

63That is who Aziraphale has always been, and Crowley isn't going to start calling him otherwise now over a silly paperwork issue. [ return to text ]

64Translation: "Ready!" [ return to text ]

65For those nerds in the audience who want to play out this scenario in their next roleplaying campaign, the Them can be respectively classed as follows: the tank, the DPS fighter, the lancer, and the gunner. And of course, the dog. [ return to text ]

66Unfortunately, considering the piles of amputated limbs and heads, it seems to be back in use. [ return to text ]

67Spoiler: they don't. [ return to text ]

68The screaming clued them in without Crowley having to mention it. [ return to text ]

69Perfect for families! [ return to text ]

70Just imagine the worst think you possibly can think of. It's about ten times worse than that. [ return to text ]

71Or worse than, considering where they are. [ return to text ]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI SORRY FOR DISAPPEARING FOR A WEEK YA'LL, IT'S BEEN A LITTLE WACKY FOR ME. Back now though, and hoping to post the last 3 chapters every day or every other day until the end!


	12. Chapter 12

The first bars on Wensleydale's phone appear when they're about thirty feet from the top of the escalator. They emerge onto an empty airfield, no soldiers in sight. Crowley carries Aziraphale a short distance away and kneels on the ground. It must have rained in the time since they were down there, and Crowley's pant legs start soaking with water as soon as his knees hit the asphalt. He doesn't seem to care, entirely focused on Aziraphale, cradling him and muttering things, tears starting to roll down his cheeks again.

Wensleydale covers the phone speaker for a moment. "They'll be here in seven minutes. I've told them to bring all the blood they can carry."

"It's too long!" Crowley snaps. "He needs help _now!_ "

Adam is just about to respond when there's a screeching noise from the entrance of the escalator. Pepper and Brian turn, weapons raised, as Sezzlibif and Vuldris appear out of the void. Behind them is a train of another dozen demons, all holding fearsome weapons. One large demon has a saw attached to its arm. Adam sees Crowley visibly pale at that demon’s appearance and hold Aziraphale tighter.

"I knew it!" Vuldris shrieks. "Another group of demonsss trying to casssh in on our hard work!"

"Oh for God's- we're not bloody demons!" Adam shouts. "We're a bunch of normal human beings, I just tricked you into thinking we're one of you!"

All at once, the Them and Dog look like themselves again; no oozing sores or disemboweled bellies, just four teenagers streaked in dirt, wearing ratty clothes.

"Oh, thank God," Pepper states. "I was getting sick looking at the lot of you like that."

"Even worse," Sezzlibif states. "We let a bunch of human children make fools of us. No matter, that's over with. It shouldn't be hard to deal with you."

Brian shakes his head. "You lot should know, that's the genuine Antichrist over there. I wouldn't mess with him."

"He doesssn't ssseem ssso tough," Vuldris hisses. "In fact, I bet he'sss got sssome very tender flesssh. I'd enjoy a sssnack."

"I'll keep all my flesh to myself, thanks!" Adam calls out.

"Adam..." Crowley gasps raggedly. Adam looks at him. Crowley’s weeping freely, and there's devastation in his eyes. He motions to Aziraphale. "He's, he's not- I think he’s…"

"No," Adam breathes, emotions colliding in a wave of fear-anger-despair-rage that threatens to rip his heart to shreds. He curls his fists, fighting back tears. " _NO_!"

"What was the point of all this, boy?" Sezzlibif calls out. "All this fuss to save an angel and a demon? Not even that anymore. All the paperwork's been sorted, and they don't have any of their powers left. They're of no use to you. Why fight for them?"

Through the storm of feelings that threaten to overwhelm Adam, a ray of light peeks through. Something Sezzlibif's said makes him pause, consider, wonder; what if…

"You want to know why? I'll tell you why," Adam says. He faces her and points down towards his godfathers. "Because that's what you do when you love someone! You fight for them! And that's something you'll _never_ be capable of understanding!"

Sezzlibif snorts. "Love. What a petty, stupid human emotion."

"Oi!" Pepper shouts. "Love's the most important thing in the world! Without love, you've got nothing else." She glances at Adam, and they share a smile.

"Yeah, that's right," Adam says. "I love my friends, I love my family, and Zira and Crowley are my family. Hear that? _Mine._ Heaven and Hell don't want them anymore. That means they hold no power over them anymore. And when your old family kicks you out and tells you they no longer love you, there'll always be people out there to take their place. So, if Zira and Crowley don't belong to Heaven or Hell, there's only one reality left that they really belong to, and that's _my_ reality." He sniffs, wiping his eyes, praying this works. "And I can affect anything I want in my reality. So, I've decided."

"What'sss that, boy?" Vuldris taunts. "What could you possibly do?"

Adam looks down to Crowley, who's looking back up at him with the wonder he had before. Crowley has realized it too; Adam sees it written on his face. Zira and Crowley are _his_.

"This is what I've decided," Adam says. "Aziraphale, who is no longer a principality of Heaven, must be a principality of Earth. He belongs to us now. He's Earth's own angel."

Crowley gasps as the bloody stumps on Aziraphale's back begin to glow, and as quick as a flash a new set of wings unfurl from the light; no longer white, but shades of brown and peach and black and gold and white. Thousands of varied colors, no two the same; all the colors that people can possibly come in.

Adam continues. "Crowley, who is no longer a demon of Hell, must be a demon of Earth. He belongs to us now. He's Earth's own demon." This time, Crowley cries out in shock as his own wings snap into existence, black feathers holding for only a moment before, all at once, they scatter away in the wind, revealing new feathers in the same colors as Aziraphale's.

"Holy _shit_ ," Brian says. "That's _brilliant._ "

"I didn't know you could do that," Pepper says, eyes wide.

"It's logical, if you think about it," Wensleydale says.

The horde of demons are frozen, staring at Adam with shock, but he doesn't notice. He's focused on Aziraphale, who's still lying motionless in Crowley's lap. "Aziraphale, you're not going to die," Adam says. "And neither are you, Crowley. Because angels and demons of Earth, they've got all the same powers and immortality that angels of Heaven and demons of Hell do. So, the Earthly angel Aziraphale isn't broken and bleeding all over my godfather's lap. He's whole and healed and he needs to _WAKE UP_!"

Aziraphale jerks in Crowley's lap, his eyes that are now both there shooting open, his fingers that are no longer broken gripping Crowley's sleeve. His clothes are spotless once more, and he gasps for air, blinking and looking up at the demon above him.

"C-Crowley?" Aziraphale asks. "What- what's happened?"

"Oh, _Aziraphale_ ," Crowley says, sobbing happy tears as he pulls Aziraphale into a tight hug. Aziraphale, despite having been unconscious for the last several hours, seems to take this much better than the demon does, looking confused but hugging back and whispering assurances and comforting words to Crowley.

Adam lets them have a moment, turning back to the demons, who still have yet to move. He points at them. "Understand? The Earth doesn't belong to Heaven or Hell. It belongs to _me_. And I'm making some changes around here. For a start, both Hell and Heaven are going to leave my godfathers alone, forever. If you ever, _ever_ try to hurt them again, I'll have all the holy men and women turn the seas to holy water and let them run right into the bowels of Hell. I'll build a tower of Hellfire and send it roaring right into Heaven." He looks upwards, pointing again. "Understand? I know you can hear me up there!"

No response, but he knows they're listening.

"Second," Adam says. "I'm going to be sticking around here longer than the average human. It's my reality, so I say that I also get to live forever. I'll pick a nice age and stop there. And as long as I'm around, none of you lot are going to use _my_ planet as your own personal stomping ground to carry out your petty grudges!"

"Oh, really?" Sezzlebif says, finally breaking out of her stupor. "You're going to take on the whole of Heaven and Hell and expect to win?"

"Not alone," Adam says, motioning to his friends. "I've got help."

"They'll die sssomeday," Vuldris hisses. "They can't protect you forever."

"They can, if they want," Adam responds, looking to Pepper and Brian and Wensleydale. "I'll make them live forever too, but only if they want it. Plenty of time to think about that."

Wensleydale looks thoughtful. "I'd get a lot more work done."

Brian shrugs. "Could be cool."

Pepper grins. "I've always wanted to see the future."

"Right," Adam says, turning back to the demons. "So, you all just get back on that escalator and get off my planet. That's an order. I don't want to see any of your lot or Heaven's on this planet for the next thousand years, or they'll be holy water and Hellfire to pay."

"YOU _INSSSOLENT LITTLE-_ "

Vuldris' shriek cuts through the airfield. He charges forwards, straight for Adam, brandishing a short blade as if to stab him through the heart.

His charge is ended when Pepper lunges in from the side, yelling and swiping her blade to cut his head clean off. Vuldris dissolves into ether with a scream, and Pepper lands on both feet, holding the sword aloft- the sword, that's burning with a bright blue flame.

"Holy shit!" Pepper yelps, dropping the sword, which immediately extinguishes. She looks towards her friends. "Did you all see that?"

"Apparently they did," Wensleydale points out, motioning to the demons, who are now scrambling over one another to get down the escalator as fast as possible.

"How'd I do that?" Pepper asks.

"I've no clue," Adam says, shrugging. "It was wicked though. You looked like a proper avenging angel."

Pepper grins, blushing madly. "Yeah. Thanks, Adam."

Brian rolls his eyes. "You're both awful."

"Shut it, Brian!" Pepper snaps. "I bet you're even worse with your girlfriend."

"Casey's not-"

All together, the rest of the Them shout, " _We know!_ "

Adam looks down to his godfathers. Crowley's stopped crying; thank God, it was getting a bit awkward. He hasn't stopped hugging Aziraphale though, like if he lets go, Aziraphale will disappear. Aziraphale keeps muttering things to him, like, "I'm alright," and "This is really unnecessary," and "Crowley, dear, not in front of the children!"

Aziraphale finally gets Crowley to give him a little breathing space as Adam kneels down next to them. "I feel like I've missed quite a lot," Aziraphale says, smiling fondly at him. "I seem to remember no longer having wings, and now I've got very colorful ones. Care to explain?"

Adam grins. "It might take a while. The short version is that Heaven and Hell are going to leave you both alone now, permanently. You're no longer under their domain, so you're free to do and be however you like."

"Oh." Aziraphale blinks, then looks over to Crowley. "So, I suppose there's some things we should dis-"

Crowley kisses him, cradling Aziraphale's cheek, holding him close but so achingly gentle that Adam has to look away; it's far too personal to watch.

When Crowley pulls back, he rests his forehead against Aziraphale's. "Only thing I need to discuss is how much I love you, angel."

Aziraphale smiles, reaching up to stroke a thumb across his cheek. "I know, darling. I heard you."

Crowley's eyes widen. "You did?"

Aziraphale nods. "I did. And I love you as well, of course I do. I thought you knew that. I've tried to show it every way I can, but I suppose I should be direct for once."

Crowley dissolves into laughter, pulling Aziraphale back to him. They don't separate for a very long while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come back tomorrow for the epilogue ayyyyyy!


	13. Chapter 13

_One week later..._

The weather is just as glorious and gorgeous as it had been a week prior, but the circumstances seem far more optimistic as Adam knocks on the door of Jasmine Cottage. He's dressed in a well-pressed blue button down and grey slacks, a navy-blue tie around his neck. He smooths his hair back as the door swings open.

"Adam!" Crowley says, grinning wide, dark shades returned to their normal resting place. "You're looking sharp. What's the occasion?"

"Going out to a... thing after this," Adam says, not quite ready to let his godfather know all the details. "I just wanted to stop by and see how you both were. Is Zira in?"

Crowley nods, stepping aside to let Adam come in. "Surprised you've stayed away this long," he says as he shuts the door. "I know you said you didn't need us watching over you at night anymore, but I expected a phone call or a text at least."

Adam smiles, following Crowley down the hallway. "I wanted to give you both some time to yourselves to figure things out. I thought you could use it, after last week."

"Ah," Crowley says. "Makes sense."

"So, have you?" Adam asks. "Figured everything out?"

"Mostly," Crowley replies, and Adam's delighted to see him blushing a bit. "Y'know. The important things."

The back of the house contains a sunroom with dozens of potted and hanging plants, a plush grey couch, oak coffee table, and plain white curtains that help the sunlight gently diffuse through the room. Adam steps inside to see Aziraphale sprawled across the length of the couch, head buried in a book as usual. His newly colorful wings are out, softly supporting him as he leans back, and as for his clothes...

"Are those _jeans?!_ " Adam asks, staring at him. "And- and that's a T-shirt. And it's not even white! Since when do you own a T-shirt?"

Aziraphale glances up, his eyes lighting up when he sees Adam. "Hello, my dear boy! Ah, yes, all the clothes... well. I’m _experimenting._ It’s been suggested that I should take the opportunity to update my wardrobe to something a bit more… modern. Something to better fit in, you know? Establish my place as an angel of Earth."

"Or at least something from the last three decades," Crowley says, leaning on the door jamb and smirking.

"Yes," Aziraphale says. Adam didn't know it was possible to literally exude happiness, but when Aziraphale looks at Crowley, Adam swears he can see little pink hearts swirling around his head. "Well, I'm trying some new things out."

"Lots of new things, eh, angel?" Crowley says, waggling his eyebrows. Aziraphale giggles, and Adam can't be in the room with this if it goes on for much longer; they're his _godfathers_ , for pity's sake.

"Can you give us a minute, Crowley?" Adam asks. "I won't keep him from you long, promise."

"Mmmmm," Crowley says. "Alright, angel?"

"Of course," Aziraphale says, closing his book and stretching his wings before slipping them back into the ether. He sits up slides his legs off the couch, patting the free space next to him. "You're looking quite dapper today. Anything I should know about?"

Crowley shuts the door as Adam takes a seat cross-legged on the couch, facing Aziraphale. He shrugs his shoulders. "Just something I'm doing later. I might tell you about it at some point."

The look Aziraphale gives him is disturbingly knowing, but he nods. "Whenever you're ready, dear. So, what would you like to talk about?"

"I wanted to apologize," Adam says. There's a fraying bit of thread on the couch cushion, and he picks at it[72], keeping his eyes down. Everything he's practiced saying seems to have flown out of his brain, and his nerves are building up in the stiffness of his shoulders.

Aziraphale reaches out and covers Adam's hand, stopping his nervous picking of the thread. "Whatever for?"

"For everything I said," Adam blurts out. "For everything you had to go through 'cause of me. If you hadn't been protecting me-"

"Don't," Aziraphale states. "Don't you dare ever apologize for that."

"It's the truth," Adam states, swallowing. "I saw what they did to you, Zira. And Crowley looked as pale as death when we found you both. All of that, you didn't deserve it."

"I know," Aziraphale says, not unkindly. "But you weren't the cause of that. And you saved us from anything worse, Adam. I'm so thankful for that."

"Do- do you remember it?" Adam asks, looking up at him. "I thought, maybe the shock of it all, you might forget."

Aziraphale looks past him. There's a darkness in his eyes that Adam hates.

"Some of it," Aziraphale says. "I don't think I'll ever forget some of it. I can keep my mind off it during the day, but apparently this new Earthly role I've got comes with new rules, like a need for sleep, and, well... Nightmares," he says, giving Adam a pained smile by way of explanation. "But Crowley's always there when I wake up. That helps."

As cheerful a façade Aziraphale puts on, Adam can see a weight on his shoulders that wasn’t there before. A shake of his hands as he recalls the nightmares. A haunted look in his eyes. He’s an immortal being of infinite wisdom; he’ll never forget the things that were done to him. Not really.

“God, Zira, I’m so _sorry_ ,” Adam babbles. “It’s my fault, I know you say it’s not but if you hadn’t- I was arrogant and stupid and if I hadn’t been such a bloody wanker, maybe you’d have seen it coming. I wasn’t worth all that, I _wasn’t_ , okay?” He wipes his eyes; he’s not crying or anything, it’s just a bit misty in the room, with all the… plants. 

There's silence, and then a _whoosh_ and a great wave of air. Adam feels Aziraphale shift closer, arms coming around him. Adam copies the motion, meeting Aziraphale in the hug. There's a softness tickling the back of Adam's head; he realizes that Aziraphale's wings have come out again and are wrapped around them both. Probably a natural, protective reaction. Always so bloody protective. How could someone this good be treated so badly by a supposedly benevolent God?

"Listen to me, Adam Young," Aziraphale murmurs. "I was created as a being of love. I'm created to love quickly, and easily."

"Yeah, I know," Adam says. "I know you love me, Zira."

"That isn't it," Aziraphale says, pulling back and giving him a soft smile. "I love many things about this planet, and many people on it. But there's a big difference between that kind of general love, which I can feel for all things, and _unconditional_ love. That's something I've only had for a few creatures in my existence. Crowley's one of them. I'd do anything for him. Face down the Almighty Herself to protect him." Aziraphale reaches out, wiping a tear off of Adam's cheek. He's always so gentle; even when his was strong and determined, wielding a holy sword and facing off against Satan himself, his hand was gentle holding Adam's. Aziraphale continues. "You're another, you realize?"

"Yeah, okay," Adam says, wiping a hand down his face. "So?"

"So, don’t ever apologize for being loved," Aziraphale says. "For being worth loving. There's nothing to forgive. You are who you are, Adam. All your flaws and anger and doubts, they're just as important as your kindness and bravery. If you didn't have those, you wouldn't be the Adam I love. So, despite what you think, you will _always_ be worth it. No matter what. Understand?"

"Zira..." Adam says, voice cracking. He presses his face to Aziraphale's shoulder. For a few minutes, the world that exists for Adam is only this space, circled by Aziraphale's feathers, safe and protected and _unconditionally_ loved. He's starting to really understand what that means.

After a while, Adam sits back, wiping his eyes. Aziraphale unfurls his wings and slips them away.

"Better?" Aziraphale asks.

"Mmmm," Adam says. "Yeah. Sorry, got a bit weepy there. Not very manly of me."

Aziraphale snorts. "Says who? I'll have you know that I've existed as a male-appearing being on this planet for most of my six thousand years, and I've cried plenty of times. Crowley too, more than me, I think. You saw him last week." He grins.

Adam grins back, letting out a watery chuckle. "Right. Suppose that's true. Anyway, I, uh, I had probably better get going, then."

"If you like," Aziraphale says. "You're certainly welcome to stay."

"Nah, I've got plans," Adam says, standing up. "Besides, I think Crowley's on a protective streak right now. If I keep you any longer, he might get twitchy."

"Mmmm. He does that," Aziraphale agrees, also standing. "I'll walk you out, then."

Crowley's standing in the kitchen when they come back down the hall. He glances over his sunglasses at Adam, who must look well and truly like a mess after all the blubbering that just took place, but Crowley says nothing about it. "Leaving?" he asks.

"Yes," Adam says, nodding. "I'll stop by later in the week then, if that's alright?"

"Any time you like. You're always welcome here, Adam," Crowley says. Then, to everyone's shock - probably Crowley's included - he pulls Adam into a deep hug, and mutters, "Love you, you little human brat."

"Love you too, Crowley," Adam says, grinning when he pulls away. Crowley rolls his eyes, but again, says nothing about it.

Adam hugs Aziraphale again at the door, murmuring a "love you, Zira," in his ear and holding on a little longer, because they're all safe and whole and Adam needs to appreciate it, just for a moment. Then he's off, scrambling onto his bike and waving goodbye as he pedals quickly away from the cottage, towards town.

Pepper is sitting on the steps of the old church, the agreed-upon meeting place, wearing a white blouse and black slacks. She stands up quickly when she sees him coming around the bend, waving and grinning.

"You're looking a bit wet there, Adam Young," Pepper says.

"Piss off," Adam says, bringing his bike to a halt and walking it behind the stone wall of the churchyard. He stashes it right next to Pepper's for safekeeping. "It's not unmanly to cry."

"Never said it was," Pepper responds, winking at him. "I appreciate emotional vulnerability in a man."

"Oh," Adam says, very unsure of what to make of that statement. "Right."

"Brian just texted me," Pepper says. "He says he'll be here with Casey in two minutes. I can't believe I'm saying this, but I'm honestly excited to meet the mystery girl. Do you think Wensleydale was really being truthful when he said he didn't mind not joining us for the evening?"

"Yeah, I expect so," Adam says. "He knows the four of us together is what's most important at the end of the day. And who knows? Maybe he'll find a special someone to bring around, or maybe he's fine as he is. Whatever makes him happy."

"So then, are you suggesting I qualify as a special someone now?" Pepper asks, smirking.

Adam freezes, sputtering. "I- uh, I mean, I kind of assumed when you asked if I wanted to go on a _date_ that-"

Pepper laughs, and then leans in to press a quick, chaste kiss to his cheek. "I'll take your offer under consideration, Mr. Young."

She pulls back, grinning from ear to ear. Adam's feeling likewise. He's about to suggest they make their first date a duo affair when they hear a familiar shouted "Oi!" They both turn to look down the path at the same time.

Brian's barreling towards them: hair askew, tie askew, everything a bit messy. Sitting on the back of his bike, holding on and whooping excitedly, is a taller boy with freckles, red hair, and a gap-toothed grin. Brian comes to a halt in front of the entrance to the churchyard, panting.

"Sorry about that," he says, letting the boy slip off the back of his bike before getting off himself. "Casey and I can never get anywhere quick."

The boy waves to them. "Lovely to meet you both. Brian's told me a lot about you."

Adam and Pepper both stare at Brian, and several things click into place at once for both of them. The gender-neutral name. The protestation about "Casey's not-" never completed; they all assumed he was trying to say, "my girlfriend," but in fact, was probably saying, "a girl." The hesitance Brian's always displayed about dating while living in a small village, which, despite having Mrs. and Mrs. Parkinson, still has its bigots.

"I've been so _heteronormative_ ," Pepper gasps, pressing a hand to her forehead. "How? I'm the treasurer of our school's GSA!"

"Sorry about this," Adam says to Casey. "She's currently reevaluating every single interaction she's ever had with Brian. This could take a while."

"Ah, that's alright," Casey says, shrugging. "I can wait. You could tell me if you've all gotten up to anything interesting this summer."

Adam glances at Brian, and they grin.

"Well..." Adam begins.

_We will carve our place into time and space_

_We will find our way, or we'll make a way (say hey, hey, hey)_

_Find you're great, don't you hide your face_

_Let it shine, shine, shine, shine, shine, shine_

_So hey, we brought our drum and this is how we dance_

_No mistakin', we make our breaks, if you don't like our 808s_

_Then leave us alone, 'cause we don't need your policies_

_We have no apologies for being_

_Find me where the wild things are_

_-Alessia Cara, Wild Things_

END

FOOTNOTES:

72He knows he could always magic it to perfection, but not everything needs magic. If Aziraphale and Crowley wanted it fixed, they would have done it themselves. Adam can't control everything about the world. He's going to have to let people decide some things for themselves.) [ return to text ]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AND THAT'S A WRAP FOLKS!!!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading along on this wild adventure. It was truly a joy to bring you this tale and watch your reactions as it unfolded. Thank you to everyone who took the time to comment on every single chapter, or even just one to let me know what they thought, as well as anyone who left kudos or even just came to see what this was all about. 
> 
> Now then...
> 
> I do have a sequel that I've been rattling around in my brain. I'm hoping to have the energy and motivation to complete it within the next few weeks. I really enjoyed playing around with the dynamics of an older the Them, and of course there will be more Ineffable Husbands sweetness, as well as some potential new (or from another perspective, _old_ ) friends. I hope to see you all soon. Thanks for making my opening gambit into GO fandom a great experience.
> 
> <3-  
> Jay

**Author's Note:**

> CONTENT WARNING: There is a scene where characters are menaced and it is implied they are about to be tortured, and another scene after where we see the results and get a general description of what occurred. I tried very hard to avoid getting into torture porn territory, but the gravity of the situation needed to be felt in the text. Also, seeing as Hell appears heavily in the story, there are a variety of graphic descriptions of demons, the gruesome geography of Hell, and other disgusting, gory things throughout the text. Discretion is advised for anyone triggered by these sorts of things.


End file.
